You Want It Darker
by smith.pepper
Summary: After regaining her memories and leaving the Bebop for the last time, Faye Valentine tried to start a new life. But old habits die hard. In order to save Jet's life, she's forced to team up with someone she'd rather forget as they track down the most evil bounty yet: a brutal serial killer on the loose.
1. something to live for

**i. something to live for**

It's hard to keep going.

You try to keep your routines. You put food into your body. You lie down at night and sleep, or try to sleep, until the sun rises again. You rise wearily in the gray pre-dawn light, smoke a cigarette, taste the stale nicotine on your lips from the night before, brush your teeth, rinse, repeat, leave the house. On a good day, you'll walk around town, wander the rain-washed streets, watch the eggshell sky reflecting in the oily puddles on the asphalt. You go to work. On a bad day, you won't. You'll lie in bed, wish you had changed your musty sheets, stare at the ceiling, smoke. You'll bring a bottle of liquor into bed with you. That never ends well. You can cry if you've had a lot to drink, though, and sometimes it feels good just to get that release. You try to forget.

* * *

It was better when Faye couldn't remember. With no memories to drag her down into sorrow, she spent each day in survival mode, hunting for food and shelter like the feral creature she had become. She had nothing to haunt her dreams, no guilty conscience, no guiding star.

And then that changed, and all of a sudden she had nothing but memories to drown her, cloud her mind, break her heart over and over again. Everyone she had ever loved was dead, or lost to distance or time, or simply out of reach.

Faye's life was easier now, at least. Waitressing in Ganymede was a hell of a lot less dangerous than bounty hunting. She served plates of pancakes, poured coffee, jotted down orders, flirted with customers for tips. When her shifts finished, she stood outside by the dumpsters and smoked with the cooks and the busboys. They didn't chat much. That was all right with Faye. Solitude suited her fine most of the time.

She lived alone in a small apartment by the wharf. The roof leaked when it rained and the paint was chipping, but it was cheap and the door locked tightly. The best part of the apartment was that the previous tenant had left an out-of-tune upright piano. The guy had been too lazy to get the thing moved. She didn't play it, but she sat at the bench and traced the keys thoughtfully.

For the first few months, she hadn't minded the loneliness. After work, she would come home and peel off her uniform and take a long shower until the water ran cold, rinsing the smell of cooking oil out of her hair. She would pull on her old yellow bathrobe and read paperbacks on the fire escape until she felt tired enough to sleep. There was a used bookstore nearby, and on her days off she liked to browse through old Earth novels, feeling a thrill of grief every time she came across a book that reminded her of her dad, something she could remember him reading over his coffee while her mom hummed along to the radio.

After a few months of this, Faye sighed into the mirror and admitted to herself that she needed the touch of another human before she shriveled up and died. It was almost pathetically easy for her to seduce the best-looking line cook from the diner back to her place one night; it was also easy to slip into the routine of having him around. His name was Benjy and he was sweet; tall and blue-eyed and gentle. The sex was fine, and it was comforting to have someone breathing nearby while she tossed and turned through the night. When she had nightmares and awoke gasping and sweating, he would roll over in his sleep and wrap his well-sculpted arms around her. In the mornings, she would pretend to sleep until he let himself out and left for his early shifts.

The moment that Faye heard the door click shut, she would rise and pull out a tattered notebook that she keep stashed underneath her mattress, the pages pressed flat and yellowing. It was just a place to hide a few photographs. She only had one of Spike. She stared at it until she felt as though her eyes would bore holes in the film. He smiled out at her, eyes half-lidded the way they would get when he'd been drinking. Faye didn't know who had taken the picture; Spike would never have let her approach him with a camera. She'd found the snapshot one day in a kitchen drawer and pocketed it stealthily.

Faye didn't have any photos of her parents. Sometimes their faces were branded in her mind's eye so strongly that she felt like they were about to materialize in front of her. Other times, she could barely recall the lilt of her mother's voice or the green of her father's eyes. Once, while Faye was in the shower, Benjy picked up her beta tape from her nightstand. She walked back into her bedroom with dripping hair to see him examining it curiously. Furious, she strode up to him and snatched it out of his large hands.

"What the hell are you doing?! That's _mine_!" she'd yelled. "Never touch that again!"

"Okay! Geez! You don't have to bite my head off," he'd mumbled, shamefaced and awkward.

Jet emailed her occasionally. After she had first left, he wrote every other day or so, asking where she had gone and whether she would be reimbursing him for the fuel and food she'd taken. She mailed him some Woolongs in small amounts from different fake addresses until he dropped the issue, and now he only sent short, curt messages to ask whether she would return to work with him on various bounties.

 _New lead on escaped con out by Saturn moons. 300,000. Could use backup. You in?_

Sometimes Jet mentioned Spike, and Faye would pretend like she hadn't noticed, pointedly replying to every other part of the message and ignoring any reference to their old shipmate. After a while, Jet got the hint.

* * *

It was a rainy Friday morning. Faye woke up with Benjy in her bed, her head pounding from a bottle of cheap Chianti the night before. Benjy rolled over and kissed her on the cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to sleep.

"Babe?" he murmured, running his hand over the dip of her narrow waist and across her hips. "Aren't you working morning shift today?"

She groaned and pushed his roaming hands away.

"Mmm. Yeah. Thanks," she rasped, climbing out of bed and pulling on her uniform: a black pencil skirt, a tight-fitting red polo shirt, an apron, and a stupid baseball cap. She imagined, as she often did, what her parents would think if they saw her like this, and suppressed a bitter giggle.

Benjy yawned and scratched his armpits and shaved his scruff over her cracked porcelain sink. The rain pattered on her windowpanes and cast watery shadows across her dusty wooden floor. Faye swigged orange juice out of the carton and waited until Benjy loped out of the bathroom, clean and boyish without his five o' clock shadow.

"Y'ready?" he asked, digging through her coat closet for an umbrella.

Faye nodded distractedly, wondering if it would be safe to keep her beta tape on the nightstand with the roof leaking the way it did. As Benjy pulled out the battered umbrella and laced up his shoes, Faye grabbed a plastic bag from out of her kitchen and darted back into the bedroom. She wrapped the beta tape in it securely and placed it under the mattress, next to her notebook of photographs. _There. That ought to keep it dry._

"Ready," she called back, grabbing her thin raincoat and following Benjy out into the gloom.

The diner was already busy at 8 am, and Faye cast a resigned glance over the crowded booths and tables. Benjy gave her a peck on the cheek and hurried into the kitchen, tying his stained chef's around around his waist as he went.

Most of the customers today were fishermen, coming in ruddy-faced and damp after delivering their catches to the early morning markets. Faye wrinkled her nose at the smell of seaweed and fish guts as she darted around pouring steaming coffee into mugs. Outside the steamed-up windows, the rain intensified. Faye stared out at the palm trees whipping in the wind, their sodden fronds flying like streamers of black cellophane, and tried not to imagine the state of her leaky roof.

"Faye. Faaaye? Hey! Snap out of it!"

Startled, Faye jumped slightly, splashing some boiling coffee onto her wrist. She let out a yelp of pain and turned, cursing under her breath. Sandy, another waitress, stood before her. She was an over-perfumed blonde who got on Faye's nerves.

" _What_?" she hissed as Sandy stuck a few pieces of gum into her mouth and began chewing noisily. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Geez. Sorry," Sandy replied petulantly, "it's just that there's some guy outside? And his zipcraft is like, taking up a lot of the spots and making the regulars mad? Can you go tell him to move?"

"Why do I have to do it?" Faye asked. "You do it."

Sandy gave her a mournful stare, patting her wispy hair.

"Faaaaaaaaye. Please? I just got my hair done last night and the curls would all come out. Pleeeeease?"

Faye rolled her eyes, but she didn't have the energy for an argument. At least she could take a quick smoke break. Grumbling to herself, she pulled out her lighter and cigarettes, struggling to ignite her cigarette in the wet wind. Sheets of rain pelted the asphalt, and she could hear waves crashing in the distance. She peered around the flooded parking lot. Sure enough, a sleek red zipcraft was parked haphazardly across four spots, dripping pools of strong-smelling oil onto the pavement from somewhere deep within its machinery.

Faye frowned. She ground out her cigarette beneath her foot. Gazed thoughtfully at it for a moment.

Pulling her baseball cap tightly around her ears, she strode out into the rain and began walking with a calm, purposeful gait. She felt no panic, no turmoil, no emotion; only a clear and decisive need to go home immediately.

Once Faye got home, soaking wet and shivering, she stripped off her uniform and took a two-hour-long bath. She applied three different face masks and filed her long nails down to stumps. She cooked a plate of fried eggs and threw it out after one bite. Just as she had feared, her roof was leaking spectacularly, and she set out every pan she owned to catch the rainwater. The steady dripping put her in a kind of trance, and she wrapped and re-wrapped her beta tape in the plastic bag several times.

As usual, Benjy knocked on her door around sunset, and she let him in wordlessly, collapsing on the couch as he hovered around her.

"Um...are you sick?" he asked hesitantly. "They were pretty mad you just took off like that..."

Faye made a noncommittal noise and didn't meet his eyes.

"Yeah, I think I have...food poisoning or something. I came home and puked my guts out."

Benjy only gave her a sidelong look before loping into the kitchen to dig through her fridge.

* * *

The next morning the rain finally cleared, and a weak sun emerged from behind the heavy clouds. Faye slunk back to the diner and endured a twenty-minute tirade from Mr. Lee, the grouchy, elderly manager. She winced as flecks of spittle flew from Mr. Lee's mouth as he harangued her. Luckily for her, the diner was perpetually understaffed, and although Mr. Lee threatened to fire her if she ever left in the middle of another shift, he couldn't afford to lose an employee.

Faye mixed up orders all morning, bringing a sizzling plate of bacon to an irate Buddhist monk and a pink cherry souffle covered with glitter sprinkles to a table of leather-clad bikers.

"Sorry, sorry," she snapped, scrambling back into the kitchen to try again. Sandy tittered from across the room, and Faye resisted the urge to throw a pile of hot dog buns at her. Benjy glanced up at her as she stalked into the dingy kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and snatching up the correct orders. He called something to her, but it was lost in the clamor of the kitchen.

During the midmorning lull between breakfast and lunch, Faye sat on the back stoop and smoked with Benjy. He trailed a large hand over her skirt-covered thigh, grinning shyly at her, but she brushed his hand away distractedly.

"What?" he said, wounded.

"I'm just...not feeling well," she murmured. It wasn't a lie, after all.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Benjy crossing his arms across his chest and tapping his foot. From the parking lot, Faye heard the low rumble of an engine, and she froze, cocking her head to listen. Was it...?

"What's your _deal_?" Benjy asked, watching her.

"Uh," Faye said, balling up her apron in her fists, "I think I have to go. I think...it's a debt collector. Can you cover for me?"

Benjy's face darkened. She had told him an abbreviated version of her long history of debts, and although she shaved off a few zeros from the truth, he had an idea of just how far gone she was.

"What do you want me to tell Lee, then?"

"Can you just make something up?" Faye said, already turning to go. "I gotta go."

"Faye!" Benjy called as she scuttled away. She saw a flash of red steel out of the corner of her eye as she passed the parking lot, and she broke out into a sort of crouching jog.

Once she was several blocks away, she slowed to a walk, wincing as her work shoes rubbed blisters into her ankles.

She felt curiously detached from herself as she limped the rest of the way home. Who was this cowardly person, sneaking around this way? Digging through bargain bins of paperbacks and wearing a baseball cap and serving tacos to truck drivers? She wasn't ashamed of her current life, exactly. That wasn't the problem.

Benjy didn't come by that night, and Faye didn't blame him.

She laid in bed awake for a long time before drifting into a sleep punctuated with uneasy half-dreams; shadowy forms crossing her vision, a faint breeze whispering across the curtains.

* * *

 _2071_

Silence. The whirring of the metal fan.

"I don't want to do this."

Jet paused, ran his mechanical hand over his bald head.

"Are you even listening to me?"

A wordless nod. The cherry of her cigarette tip, glowing in the darkness.

"I don't like this."

He sighed in resignation; he knew when Faye had him beat. When she held all the cards.

"Pick me up once you have her. I'll get him and see if there's anything we can do. Don't get your hopes up."

"I know. They're not," she said, her voice brittle.

* * *

A week passed uneventfully at the diner, and Faye felt a sliver of relief emerge. Benjy came over again after a few days, seeming content to forget her strange behavior entirely. Faye hid her beta and her photographs more securely underneath her mattress and feigned ignorance when Benjy complained about the lumpy bed.

On Tuesday night, they sat side-by-side on her mildewed couch and ate Chinese takeout. The rain was back, plunking sporadically into her array of pots and pans.

"You wanna have dinner with my mom next week?" Benjy asked her through a mouthful of fried rice. Faye stopped chewing and gave him an incredulous stare.

"Uh," Faye said, poking at her noodles.

Benjy popped an egg roll into his mouth and swallowed the whole thing without chewing.

"Come on! It'll be fun. Her new boyfriend is loaded and he'll take us somewhere great. How's Tuesday night?"

"I...can't do it."

"Wednesday, then? You're not working, right?"

Faye blinked.

"No. I just...I can't. Tuesday, Wednesday, not ever. I can't meet your mom."

Benjy rolled his eyes.

"Oh, come on. We can get lobster. Sea rat. Champagne. Whatever."

Faye pursed her lips in annoyance, but she had to admit that it didn't sound too terrible. It had been ages since she had eaten anything good. The Chinese takeout was dry and flavorless, and she _had_ been craving Dom Perignon...She blew out an exasperated sigh and threw up her hands in defeat.

"Fine. Okay. Wednesday?"

Benjy beamed at her and squeezed her upper thigh.

* * *

Faye Valentine didn't meet mothers. Faye Valentine didn't even _have_ a mother. But Faye Leung did.

One day at a grocery store, all in a blinding rush of certainty, she finally recalled her name. It had been driving her crazy for the last couple of weeks, and the rush of remembrance was so intense that she dropped a jar of pickled bamboo shoots, the glass shattering onto the tile floor and splashing gloopy liquid everywhere.

Her real name, before the accident and the cryosleep and the bounty hunting and the Bebop. She used it now, although she frequently forgot about it and ignored calls of Miss Leung, looking around for some other invisible woman whenever her name was called out at the bank, at the doctor's office, anywhere she needed to provide a handle.

She was from Singapore. Her parents were professors: her mother an art historian, her father an expert in French literature. As for Faye, she would have been a concert pianist, or at the very least a music teacher at a nice university; at the time of the accident they'd been traveling as a family to one of her conservatory auditions. Her parents had loved her.

The explosion killed them both instantly. Faye remembered that in the grocery store, too, somewhere between the produce section and the checkout. She vomited into a plastic bag and went home without buying anything.

* * *

 _2071_

Her communicator crackled to life. Jet's face filled the screen.

"Got her?"

"Yeah.

"She's gone? You're sure?"

"Yeah."

Jet's face was unreadable. A long moment passed before she worked up the courage to ask the next question.

"You find him yet?"

Through the blur of the static onscreen, she watched his hard face crumple into tears as he nodded, and she felt an abyss open inside of her. So it had happened at last.

"We should bury them together, then," Faye said, her heart throbbing painfully in her throat.

"We won't be able to do that."

Faye winced and looked away.

"Oh. Is...is there nothing left to...use?"

Jet let out a strange barking laugh before panning the communicator to his left. Behind him, wedged into the passenger seat of the Hammerhead, was a crumpled figure in a bloodied trench coat. Even with the poor reception, Faye could detect a slight but indisputable rise and fall of breath.

"No. Faye. The motherfucker isn't dead yet. I'm taking him to the Dragon's doctor. He's going to need surgery, and about a gallon of blood, and maybe a few new organs, but I'll be damned if he's - "

Faye snapped off the communicator without a second thought.

* * *

Wednesday morning dawned cool and windy. It was Faye's day off from work, and she spent an enjoyable morning in the garment district, shopping for something to wear to dinner that night. She settled on a vibrant red silk qipao-style dress, and she haggled fiercely with the tailor until it cost about the same as a cup of coffee. She left the store grinning like a cat with a bird in its mouth, the tailor muttering darkly under his breath.

Faye remembered arguing with her mother over a very similar dress, lifetimes ago. "It's too tight for the recital," her mother had said. "Everyone will stare at your legs." Faye had lost the argument and performed her Beethoven sonata in a pantsuit instead, feeling frumpy and irritated. After the recital, her parents had taken her out for chili crab, and Faye deliberately dumped spoonfuls of black vinegar onto the lapel and crotch of the suit so she could take it off.

Benjy called to say that they would pick her up at 7. The day grew cold and blustery. Faye skipped breakfast and lunch so that she would be able to cram as much lobster and wine into her slim frame as possible. The dress was tight, but damn it, she'd get her money's worth. Well, Benjy's mother's money's worth, she amended.

By 6, Faye had finished shellacking her face with makeup and twisting her hair into an elegant updo. She wriggled into her dress and surveyed herself in the mirror with satisfaction. Perfect. Elegant enough to fit into any high-society crowd. With a pang of longing, she wondered if Benjy's mom was the gambling type.

She lounged around the apartment, thumbing through her paperbacks to kill time and trying to quell her growing apprehension. Was this a terrible idea? What if Benjy took this to mean that they were some kind of item? She shuddered and contemplated picking up the phone to cancel the whole thing. But the lobster...and good champagne...not the stuff at the gas station she could actually afford...No, she could be a girlfriend for a night. Look cute, shut up, oh, no, I couldn't possibly eat another bite! Oh, well, if you insist! Faye squared her shoulders and nodded firmly. It had to be done.

An engine rumbled outside around 6:55, and Faye stood to unlatch her door, smoothing the front of her dress and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Three heavy knocks thudded on the door.

"Coming, coming," she called, grabbing her purse and slipping on her heels. She clattered over to the door, and as she passed her kitchen window, she saw a glint of red steel. Shaking her head as if to clear it, she closed her eyes firmly for a moment. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes a fraction of an inch.

The Swordfish was parked ten feet away from her apartment door. As she registered the sight, eyes widening with shock, another zipcraft pulled up alongside the Swordfish, and Benjy tumbled out of the passenger door like an excited puppy, dressed in an ill-fitting brown suit. He opened the driver's door and helped his mother down from her seat. She was about three heads shorter than her son and three times as wide, dressed head to toe in expensive furs.

Three more knocks echoed through her apartment, more insistently this time.

Faye's dress was too tight to run in, and if she walked into her bedroom to change she would run out of time. Benjy had a spare key now and would let himself in to look for her at some point. She grabbed a peanut-butter-covered steak knife and tore a deep slit up the side of the dress, exposing most of her left thigh. Kicking off her stilettos, she shoved on a pair of house slippers and began to unlatch the kitchen window. The humidity in her apartment had swollen and warped the wood of the windowsill, and it wouldn't budge for a few tense seconds. She heard raised voices outside, but the wind had grown so fierce that she couldn't understand what they were saying. Sweating and cursing, she wrenched the window open at last, hoisted herself through it, and fell six feet into the fly-covered dumpster below.


	2. hearts and bones

**ii. hearts and bones**

The fall into the dumpster left Faye momentarily winded, and she struggled to catch her breath as she heard the sound of running footsteps. The dumpster was filled with old takeout containers, soggy toilet paper, and rotten produce, and Faye gagged as she brushed a wad of decomposing banana peels off of her dress.

Benjy came hurtling around the corner of the building, the lapels of his suit flapping in the wind.

"Jesus, Faye, what happened? Who's that guy at the door?"

"Shit - Benjy - is he still out there? Just go tell your mom to wait," Faye began, climbing out of the dumpster. Benjy leapt forward to help her, and as she clambered ungracefully into his arms, Benjy's mother rounded the corner, waddling and panting beneath her heavy furs.

"He ran off when he saw us coming. Who is he? A debt collector?" Benjy asked, narrowing his eyes. "I'll kick his ass if he does anything to you!"

"Benjamin! What is the meaning of this? Who was that man?" Benjy's mother shrieked, pulling a lace fan out of her expensive-looking handbag and fanning herself furiously. Beads of sweat dripped down her florid face, leaving tracks in her powdery makeup. "We'll miss our reservation at Le Poivre Noir!"

"Mama, give us one minute. Faye needs to, uh, tidy up real quick," Benjy told his mother, flashing her a beaming smile. His mother frowned as Faye stepped forward, eyeing her ripped dress and the bits of trash and food stuck to her hair and legs. Faye contorted her face into a smile and extended her hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss, um..."

Faye paused, realizing that she had never bothered to ask Benjy's last name. She shot a desperate look at Benjy as he hovered nearby, and he cleared his throat pointedly.

"Faye, this is my mother, Ethel. Mama, meet Faye."

Ethel took Faye's outstretched hand timidly, wrinkling her nose as Faye dislodged a fly carcass from her sleeve.

"The pleasure is all mine, Faye. Now, if you don't mind, the reservation is for 7:30, so perhaps you want to...freshen up a bit, we'll be waiting in the zipcraft."

Benjy shot her an apologetic look and led his mother back to the front of the house, grasping her by one fur-covered elbow as she huffed and wheezed. Faye padded barefoot through the back door, cursing under her breath.

Once she reached her darkened bedroom, she ripped the torn dress over her head and hurriedly rifled through her closet. She took a whiff of herself and decided she could go without a shower if she sprayed enough perfume to cover the clinging smell of the dumpster.

"Still as ladylike as ever, huh, Valentine?"

Faye froze, clutching up the nearest bathrobe and covering herself. Her heart pounded painfully in her throat and temples as she stared into the shadows.

"Who's there? I have a gun," she called, yanking the bathrobe around herself.

She flipped on the light switch and drew her Glock from her hidden thigh holster. An involuntary gasp escaped her mouth as she stared at the man in the navy blue suit before her, perched lazily on her armchair and surveying her from under half-lidded eyes and a wild mane of dark hair.

"Spike..."

A cry caught in her throat and she fought it back.

 _He can't be here. No. I tried so hard to forget._

"Easy, Romani," Spike said lightly. "Put that away."

"Get the fuck out of my house," Faye hissed, pointing the gun at his heart. "Stay away from me."

Spike sighed and crossed his long arms across his chest.

"Faye. Come on. Don't shoot. I need to talk to you."

"Do it with your hands up, then," Faye shot back, keeping her aim steady even as her hands trembled. "How did you get in? Why are you here? You died a year ago, if I remember correctly."

Spike rolled his eyes, but he raised his empty palms into the air. Faye tightened her grip and swallowed hard, willing herself to stay calm.

"Well, surprise. Here I am. And your door was pretty damn easy to pick. I'd have thought you would have figured that out by now."

"So you just felt like breaking into my place? Dammit, Spike! How did you find me?" Faye shrieked. Her communicator buzzed noisily on her nightstand, making both of them jump slightly. Glowering at Spike, she glanced down at the screen for a second.

 _Where r u? Waiting with Mama outside. Time to go._

Faye felt suddenly very exhausted, and her tailbone ached from her fall out of the window. She lowered the gun a fraction of an inch.

Spike got to his feet slowly, his hands still raised. He looked as tired as Faye felt, and something inside of her softened slightly when she saw the dark shadows underneath his eyes. He crossed the room until he was standing directly in front of her, close enough for her to notice his mismatched irises, the hazel of one eyeball slightly darker than the other.

"What do you want, Spike?" Faye asked quietly, her mouth dry.

Spike reached up slowly and guided her hands clutching the Glock slowly down to her sides. She let it fall onto the nightstand with a clatter. Her communicator started to buzz incessantly, and Spike scowled down at it.

"Your boyfriend sure is impatient, huh?"

Faye glared at him and reached for her gun again, but Spike continued hurriedly, backing away from her.

"Listen to me. It's Jet. He's sick."

Faye paused.

"Really? How sick?"

Spike grimaced, and her stomach twisted anxiously.

"It's bad. I'll explain more later, but it's...pretty bad."

"But I just talked to him...or, well...I guess it's been a few months, but..." she trailed off, doing the math in her head. Her communicator continued to buzz, and she snatched it up in frustration, pressing the power button over and over until it fell silent.

"So that's what this is about?" Faye continued, turning to grab a dress out of her closet. "Close your eyes, by the way, I need to change clothes."

Spike obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut as she pulled on a skintight black dress and shoved her feet into a pair of leather heels.

"Are you decent?" Spike asked, and Faye nodded before realizing that he couldn't see her.

"Yeah. So...what do you want from me, exactly? Are you just here to guilt me into coming back to the Bebop? I need to get ready right now. I don't have time for this."

Spike gave her a hard look as she clattered around her room looking for her purse and earrings and perfume. He wrinkled his nose as she doused herself liberally in Chanel Number Five.

"God, you're heartless."

Faye scoffed.

"That's rich, coming from you."

Spike ignored her and paused to cough, waving away her cloud of perfume.

"Just hear me out. I'm here because I need your help, and because we both owe Jet."

Faye was silent.

"I paid him back for my room and board," she muttered, pushing earrings into her small earlobes.

"You know what I'm talking about," Spike said softly.

Faye paused with her back to him, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins, and equal parts of her wanted to either kill Spike or embrace him. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to face him.

"Okay. Can we...talk about this later?"

Spike nodded wordlessly, looking surprised. Maybe he'd expected her to put up more of a fight.

"I don't want you to come back here. Meet me at the Albatross tonight at 2. Don't be late."

"Got it."

They stood without speaking for a long moment. Faye could smell a trace of his familiar cigarettes on his clothes. Spike cleared his throat.

"Don't forget your gun," he said, offering it to her. Faye took it, feeling unbalanced and slightly drunk.

"Thanks. I'm...gonna get going. Let yourself out the back door when you leave."

Without another word, he loped out of her bedroom, raising a hand in farewell. Once she heard the back door click shut, she turned off her lights and stood in her dark hallway for a second, hot tears running down her face. She wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand and blew the air out from her cheeks.

* * *

 _2071_

What had her parents had done for her grandmother? Faye couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything.

No, no...maybe she could. If she concentrated. She screwed up her eyes as she knelt in the darkened shop, tiny shards of broken glass slicing into her palms and through the hosiery covering her knees...if she searched her memory hard enough, then maybe it would be there...

A man in a white shroud. A thick haze of incense, blurring the outlines of the figures around her. Yellow flowers piled in heaps, their scent cloyingly sweet. Singing...no...not singing, exactly...chanting. A mantra.

Faye pursed her lips and felt around in her pockets. She only found a few cigarettes. That was almost like incense, right?

No. Do it right.

She cast her gaze at the huddled masses on the floor. It was cold in the shop, so she removed her sweater and draped it carefully over both women before stepping out into the night, her bloodstained boots clacking against the cobblestones.

Incense. Flowers. Fruit? Singing, or chanting, although her voice wasn't very good, admittedly...and a monk? A priest? Faye couldn't remember.

* * *

Luckily for Faye, Ethel turned out to be a world-class alcoholic, downing four glasses of champagne before their appetizers came out at Le Poivre Noir. Faye joined her enthusiastically, gulping her own champagne so quickly that the bubbles threatened to explode out of her in an enormous burp. A pianist played a gleaming white Steinway in the corner, smiling wearily as she plodded through an medley of 2050s pop hits. Benjy nursed a beer, grinning nervously between the two women.

"Where's your mom's boyfriend?" Faye whispered to Benjy as Ethel waved over a waiter for another bottle of champagne. Benjy's face darkened.

"Stood her up. He's an asshole. That's why she's drinking so much tonight."

"Huh," Faye said, reaching for a buttered roll as her stomach grumbled. The champagne was beginning to go to her head, and she needed to eat something before she got sick. No way in hell was she missing the chance to gorge herself at a place as nice as this.

Le Poivre Noir was the best restaurant in Ganymede, and Faye loved everything about it. One wall was glass from floor to ceiling, and the building was perched on a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. Every table was lit by tiny candles ensconced in glittering, floating crystal bowls. The tuxedo-clad waiters moved soundlessly between the tables as though gliding on wheels.

Their Ganymede lobsters arrived dripping with butter and steaming hot, and Ethel perked up immediately. The three of them set about picking out the succulent morsels as the pianist launched into a Beethoven sonata. Ethel paused to listen, a piece of lobster meat speared on her fork and melted butter leaking down her fat arm.

"What is this, Benjamin?"

"Beethoven, Mama. Your favorite."

Ethel popped the lobster into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Didn't your _father_ play this?"

She swallowed her lobster and reached for her champagne, taking a messy swig before continuing.

"Yes, I do believe Charles played this. Carnegie Hall, '37. A beautiful performance..."

Benjy flashed Faye a strained smile as Ethel hiccuped and began to cry into her lobster.

"Oh, geez, Mama. Don't cry. Listen, I'll go talk to the staff...tell them to put the radio on."

Faye watched in bemusement as Ethel collapsed into sobs, resting her gigantic face in the plate of buttered rolls. Benjy patted her soothingly on the back and heaved a resigned sigh before standing up and whispering something to a waiter, gesturing to his mother as she bawled. People were staring, and Faye gave the nearest patrons a shrug and proceeded to eat Benjy's lobster off of his plate before it got cold. A waiter trotted up to the pianist and tapped the woman on the shoulder as her fingers flew over the keys, and she stopped abruptly in the middle of a phrase. The pianist stalked off angrily as the waiter gestured apologetically back at Ethel.

"Should we, um, take her home?" Faye asked Benjy as he took his seat again and looked sadly at his empty lobster shell. He shook his head, shrugging.

"Oh, nah. Don't worry! She'll get over it in a few minutes. Might as well eat the other courses!"

Faye couldn't argue with that, and as Ethel snored, they worked their way through pasta, oysters, cheesecake, and a few glasses of brandy. Ethel snorted herself awake with a jolt near the end of the meal, and Faye took that as her cue to use the lady's room. She excused herself as Benjy coaxed his mother to take a few bites of cheesecake, but she swatted him away and reached for the brandy.

After using the bathroom and stealing a few bars of luxury soap, Faye stepped outside onto the balcony overlooking the ocean to have a quick smoke.

"Mind if I have one?"

Faye turned to see the pianist walking towards her. Up close, she was quite a beautiful woman; curly dark hair and high cheekbones framing strikingly violet eyes.

"Oh, sure," Faye replied, fumbling for her cigarettes again and offering one. The woman plucked one from the pack with long, elegant fingers.

"Need a light too?"

She nodded, and Faye flicked her lighter open and lit both of their cigarettes. They stood facing the ocean, breathing in the salty air.

"Sorry about that back there," Faye murmured as they smoked. The woman made an exasperated noise and threw up her hands.

"You have no idea how fucking sick I am of this place. They just want me to play pop crap, so sometimes I throw in real music. Which they hate, I guess. But it pays the bills, you know?"

Faye nodded.

"Yeah."

The waves crashed agains the rocks. Faye peered inside to see Benjy and his mother deep in conversation and decided to smoke another cigarette before rejoining them.

"Nice Beethoven, though. Pathetique, right? The fingering's a bitch."

"You play?" the woman asked in surprise. Faye shook her head, blushing.

"No. I mean, er, I used to, but..."

"Hey, never too late to learn," the woman said mildly, stubbing out her cigarette. "Well, technically the gig ends at 9, so I'm headed home. Thanks for the smoke."

"Sure," Faye replied, feeling strangely heartbroken as she watched as the woman saunter into the night.

* * *

After dinner, Faye and Benjy heaved Ethel into the zipcraft and headed home.

"So you wanna come over?" Benjy called over the roar of the engine. Faye winced and turned to look at Ethel, but she was snoring peacefully in the backseat.

"Uh...will your mom be okay?"

"She'll be fine," Benjy said in a tone that made it clear that the discussion was over. Faye shrugged and looked out the window as they flew between the skyscrapers.

Faye had never been to Benjy's apartment. He lived in a much nicer part of town than she did, and everything he owned was spotlessly clean and well-cared for. She poked around curiously as Benjy dragged his unconscious mother into the guest room and put her to bed.

"Sorry about all of that," he told Faye, coming up behind her as she inspected his record collection and wrapping his arms around her waist. Faye leaned into his muscular chest and grasped his hands.

"Oh, don't worry. I've seen worse."

"Mmhmm," Benjy purred, pressing his face into her hair and breathing deeply. "Anyways..."

He turned her around and kissed her, pressing against her until they were lying on the couch.

"Are you sure she's out?" Faye said, gesturing toward the guest room with a jerk of her head.

"As long as you're quiet, she will be," Benjy replied, grinning shyly as he slipped a hand inside her dress. Faye's body reacted obediently, and the rest of the dance played out as it alway did.

In, out, in, out, gasp, moan, done, smoke, fall asleep. Tension and release.

Had she ever truly enjoyed this, before the accident? It all seemed so mechanical to her, sometimes. So pointless, once all was said and done.

Faye lay in Benjy's heavy arms as he dozed, listening to the rain pattering on the roof. All around the room, expensive gadgets blinked their neon lights and hummed quietly to themselves. Her thoughts turned to Spike.

He looked so tired. And older. His face had faint lines where there had been none before. How old was he, anyways? Couldn't be more than 30, she realized with surprise. She supposed dying over and over took it out of a guy. But he was still the same Spike. Even wearing the same old suit...although she had no idea how they had managed to patch up the bullet holes it must have sustained. Same old ability to piss her off instantly. Same laconic grin, same lazy voice, the same long legs and sad eyes and cigarette smell.

Faye's eyelids drooped, and her thoughts began to lose their way. Images scudded across her mind like clouds in the wind: Jet, pale and gasping in a hospital bed. The pianist from the restaurant, her curls reflecting the candlelight as she played the white piano. And then, unbidden, Spike, reaching for her, his face vivid and serious, brushing her cheek with his hand, whispering something to her that she couldn't understand...

All at once, she awoke with the feeling of having stepped off a curb, shaky and irritated. Benjy barely stirred as she extricated himself from his arms and gathered up her things.

 _Thanks for dinner! I work early so I'm headed home_ , she scrawled on a piece of paper that she left next to Benjy's sleeping form. She checked the clock blinking on his fancy microwave as she buttoned up her raincoat and cautiously unlatched his front door. 1:15 am. Just enough time.

* * *

The Albatross was a dive bar about a mile away from her apartment, and although the service was terrible and the liquor overpriced, it held the distinction of being her neighborhood's only 24/7 drinking establishment. Waitressing shifts tended to end at odd hours, and she liked stopping by at 6 or 7 in the morning after working the late-night shifts. Hopefully the place would be deserted enough for the two of them to talk in privacy.

Faye walked quickly, shuddering at the chilly air. The rain had stopped, and the city was washed clean and bathed in starlight. She wished she had thought to pack different shoes; the heels dug into her ankles and made her calves ache. After another block of torture, she gave up and kicked off the heels, stashing them in her purse. The asphalt was cold and damp, but she wiggled her toes with relish as she walked with renewed energy.

The Albatross's neon sign flickered ahead of her, and a clock blinking in a nearby gas station informed her that she still had 20 minutes to kill before her meeting time with Spike. Her stomach twisted oddly, and she realized with a funny feeling that she was rather nervous. She smoothed her hair and tugged down the hem of her skirt.

 _It's just Spike. Same old lunkhead._

Faye drew herself up to her full height and nodded once before pushing open the bar's rusted door. It was almost empty, with one bedraggled bartender swabbing out a mug and watching some old Western on the flickering television. One old fisherman slumped against a booth, his table cluttered by empty beer bottles. Faye ordered a scotch on the rocks and sidled into a corner booth to wait. When the drink arrived, she knocked back half of it in one swallow, cringing as the alcohol stung her throat.

What would he want from her? What would they talk about? Furrowing her brow, Faye remembered her half-dream from earlier at Benjy's and felt a tingle run through her.

A distant bell chimed twice. She took a deep breath and finished her drink. As she set down her empty glass, the bar door jangled open.


	3. still crazy after all these years

**iii. still crazy after all these years**

Faye watched as Spike sidled inside the bar, loping across the dingy floor to meet her in about three long strides. Although she hadn't noticed earlier, she saw now that he walked with a slight limp in his left foot, his boot dragging against the floor with each step. She held her breath as he slid into the booth across from her.

"Well, hey," she said, her voice sounding oddly squeaky. She cleared her throat and tried again. "You uh, find the place okay?"

Spike nodded, casting his gaze at the grimy-looking bartender and catching his eye.

"Sure. Whatcha drinking?"

"Scotch. House blend."

Spike wrinkled his nose as the bartender approached their table, and as he peered around the bar Faye stole a glance at him, letting her eyes travel briefly across his face; features so familiar to her by now that she could have sketched them in her sleep. She shook herself and glanced away before he caught her looking.

"Ugh. Let's have something good. Hmm...how's two Taliskers? Straight up?"

The bartender raised his bristly eyebrows and nodded, heading back to the bar as Spike sighed and propped his feet up on the table. Faye rolled her eyes and tapped her fingers against her empty glass.

"Drinks on you, I assume?"

"What makes you think that? You're the one who dragged me out here in the middle of the night. I just want something tasty," Spike said, yawning and stretching his long arms overhead.

Faye grumbled darkly under her breath. She remembered her father drinking Talisker, remembered hugging him and smelling it on his breath, and even back then it was expensive.

The bartender arrived with their fancy scotches, and they wordlessly took their glasses.

"Speak up, Valentine."

Faye took a long sip of her drink, relishing the buzz creeping up her throat.

"I don't...go by that name anymore," she said, and Spike narrowed his eyes incredulously over his glass.

"You're not telling me that you...you're not _married_ to that schlub?"

Faye choked on her mouthful of scotch.

"No! God! No. He's not...I just...that's not my name. My real name is Leung. Faye Leung," she snapped, her cheeks flushing with anger. "From before. And he's not...he's _nice_ to me, Spike, and what's it to you, anyways?"

"Oh," Spike said, looking suddenly shamefaced, "I didn't mean to..."

"Forget it."

They sat in awkward silence, staring at opposite parts of the ceiling and drinking quickly.

"So," Faye began, finishing her drink. She was tipsy now, and her throat felt ominously tight. She willed herself to keep her mind off of her parents. Every time she drank, their faces were right there.

"So," Spike agreed, lighting a cigarette. He took a long drag before pulling a notebook out from his pocket and flipping it open. In spite of herself, Faye leaned forward curiously.

"I guess I'd better start from the beginning. Remember Jet's mechanical arm?"

"Duh."

"No need to be rude. Anyways, remember how it was starting to break down?"

Faye nodded, picturing an afternoon in the bonsai room, watching a cigarette turn to ash against the man's hand, burning a black ring into the fingers. How angry he'd been when she pointed it out to him.

"Well, the old man shoulda had it replaced about four years ago, but you know how he is," Spike said, draining his drink, and Faye nodded. The arm had always been a sore subject.

"Fast forward to now, and, well, it's basically poisoning him. They don't know exactly what's causing it, but there's something weird in the material that's gotten into his bloodstream. Could be lead, or something radioactive, or even a parasite, but they had to take the arm off."

Faye blanched at the image. Of course she knew that Jet had lost an arm, but somehow the idea of him actually _missing_ an arm was strange to her.

"So he's just sitting on the Bebop with one arm?" Faye asked, and Spike shook his head, grimacing.

"No. He's in a private hospital in Alba City. There's a specialist there who works with other amputees. Jet's been in the ICU for the last two weeks. He took a turn for the worse right after I came out to see him."

Faye was quiet. She had ignored the last few emails from Jet, deleting them before she even let herself read the subject line.

Spike rifled through his suit pockets for his communicator and yanked it open.

"Here. I took a couple pictures," he said, passing the screen to Faye. Her hands shook almost imperceptibly.

"Oh, Jet," she breathed. Spike watched her flip through the photos grimly, leaning back against the wooden booth.

It was so much worse than she expected. Jet laid comatose in bed in a pristine hospital room, a breathing tube taped to his mouth and a gut-churning hollow under the blankets where his mechanical arm should be. His skin was yellow-tinged and papery, and dozens of wires and IV drips snaked into his neck and chest.

Faye handed the communicator back to Spike, feeling nauseated with guilt.

"Jesus."

"Yeah."

"What are they doing?" Faye asked, motioning to the bartender for another round.

"Well, a real shitload of tests, for starters. And they're starting treatment, it's this kind of super intense chemotherapy, but between the two of us we only had enough dough to get him through one round, and they said they think he'll need at least 10 rounds. 2 million Woolong."

"For the entire course?"

Spike laughed mirthlessly, and the bartender arrived silently with their next round.

"No way. That's how much one dose costs."

Faye raised her eyebrows to her hairline.

"You're kidding me. Fucking hospitals! Always scamming people out of their money!"

They each paused to gulp down their drinks. Spike finished his first and slammed the glass down, and the ancient fisherman slumped in the corner raised his head for a moment to gaze blearily at them, looking like an irritated old seagull with his white hair poking up in every direction.

"Right, well, there's not much we can do. Either we pay up and he gets the rest of the treatment, or..." Spike trailed off, and Faye finished the sentence in her mind.

A clock ticked on the wall. Outside, the rain had picked up again, streaming against the fogged-up windows. The neon sign flickered and hummed.

The champagne from her dinner with Benjy combined with the scotch was giving Faye a whopping headache, and she realized that she was starving. Spike thumbed through his notebook, coming to rest on a page covered with newspaper clippings and scribbles.

"So how do we get the cash?" Faye asked. "Big Shot's over, you know. It's almost impossible to find bounties these days, you have to wait for the ISSP to release their special mandates."

Spike gave her an exasperated look as she tipped the last dregs of her scotch into her mouth. She was starting to feel a little sick.

"What? For all I know, you've been living under a rock for the last year."

"Earth, actually," Spike muttered, tracing a line of scribbled text with one long finger. "Working for Doohan. But I've stayed in touch with Jet, so..."

Faye ignored the barbed remark and suppressed a hiccup.

"Whatever. I'm assuming you have a pan. I mean. A plan. So what is it?"

She slapped her hands on the table with a little too much force, making the glasses rattle. The fisherman and the bartender both glanced around, and Spike stared at her.

"Are you _drunk_?"

"No!" Faye said forcefully.

"I'm not telling you any of this while you're drunk, kid."

"Don't...don't you fucking kid me, Spike Spiegel!" Faye spat, aware that her voice was growing shrill. "I'm not your _kid_! Who do you think you are?!"

Spike made a desperate shushing noise, running a hand through his wild hair.

"Geez. Sorry. Calm down, will you?"

"YOU calm down - " Faye shrieked, standing to get up from the booth, but Spike grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her back down. They stayed locked like that for a second, Faye breathing hard and Spike staring up at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What is your problem?" Spike hissed in her ear. "I - Jet - needs your help. Grow _up_ already."

Faye shook her arm free and collapsed back into her booth, her heart pounding furiously.

"Start talking, then. Before I change my mind and my address so you can't find me next time."

"Okay. So. This is gonna come out of left field, since I'm guessing you don't know about this bounty, but how much do you know about piano competitions?"

"Uh..." Faye said, too taken aback to stay upset, "kind of a lot, actually. Why?"

Spike blinked, surprised.

"Really? You?"

"What's that supposed to me?" Faye fired back, ready to fight again. "For your information, I used to play."

"Put the claws away, will you? That's great news. That will come in handy."

Spike slid one of the newspaper clippings across the table to her, and she squinted to read it in the bar's dim lighting.

 **VIRTUOSO PIANIST FOUND DEAD** , screamed the headline of the Martian Times. A photo of a stunningly pretty blonde woman next to a piano took up half of the page, and Faye's heart sank. She scanned the article quickly, eyebrows knitting together as she took in the details, and Spike lit another cigarette as she read. Sheila Taborn, age 27, award-winning concert pianist, was found beaten to death in her apartment in Tharsis City three weeks ago. Fingerprints were found on a golf club and on her doorknob, and security footage from the apartment lobby showed a man entering her private penthouse elevator on the night she was killed. The prints belonged to an older pianist, a man who worked as an influential judge in several well-known piano competitions across the solar system. The weirdest part, the part the article's author clearly relished, was the fact that Debussy's famous song Clair De Lune had been left playing on her sound system, looping endlessly as the cops discovered her body. **CLAIR DE LUNE KILLER AT LARGE,** the article concluded dramatically.

Faye looked up at Spike, bewildered.

"So...why the hell isn't this guy already behind bars?! Prints and video? Case closed. Jealous lover or something."

Spike pointed at her with his cigarette, ash falling onto the table.

"Exactly. But apparently the wounds didn't look like they came from the golf club, and the guy has a waterproof alibi for that night. He went to a concert with two friends."

Faye scoffed.

"That's an easy enough lie to get away with. So the bounty's just for this guy?"

"Yes and no," Spike said softly, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening, "they're almost certain it was him, but they need more evidence. They're offering 50 million Woolongs to anyone with enough evidence to frame him."

Faye whistled.

"All right. So where do we start? We've never played detective before."

Spike shrugged.

"That's where you come in."

Faye stared at him.

"You don't have a plan at all?"

Spike raised his hands and let them fall.

"I was hoping we could...er, brainstorm."

Faye dragged her hands across her face, letting the full weight of her exhaustion hit her. Her mouth tasted sandy, and her stomach growled with hunger. Spike coughed into his elbow, looking embarrassed.

"This part was always easier with Ed," he admitted, and Faye chuckled begrudgingly.

"Okay. Let's...um. I guess we can meet up tomorrow? I work until 5. Where are you staying?"

"I've got the Bebop docked in the harbor. I was thinking you could crash there and we could take off for Mars first thing tomorrow."

Faye made an incoherent noise of protest.

"What? No! I have to go to work! And I have my apartment, and Benjy would worry, and - "

She stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering the photos of Jet. Spike said nothing, surveying her from underneath his half-lidded eyes.

"I..."

She threw up her hands in defeat.

"Fine. What the hell. Just give me a day to get my shit together."

The faintest trace of a smile played at the corners of Spike's mouth.

* * *

Faye collapsed into her unmade bed as the sun was rising, narrow beams of light peeking through her bedroom blinds and casting a lemony glow across her blankets. Sleep overtook her instantly, and for once, she did not dream.

Her alarm jolted her awake at 8 am, and she floated back into consciousness through a murky haze of fatigue. Bits and pieces of her strange night filtered slowly back to her as she took a drowsy shower and clumsily pulled on her uniform, and a part of her felt as though the whole thing had only been a dream. The ghastly pictures of Jet, the dead pianist, Clair De Lune, Spike alone on the Bebop just a few miles from her...

She bustled into the diner two minutes late (wincing as Mr. Lee directed a short, spittle-ridden tirade in her general direction) and quickly busied herself taking orders and pouring coffee. It was crowded, as usual, and the smells of buttered hash browns and syrupy pancakes wafted out of the kitchen and made her mouth water. She ducked into the kitchen to deliver an order and spotted Benjy. His gentle face broke into a huge smile, and they ducked into the supply closet, as they often did upon greeting one another in the kitchen.

He pinned her against a shelf of canned beans, planting kisses all over her cheeks, but Faye only returned a few distracted pecks before pulling away.

"Thanks for last night," she purred, stroking his chest. "Listen, I'm gonna have to leave town for a few days."

He frowned, pausing as he ran his large hand across her lower back.

"Is it that debt collector guy bothering you?!"

Faye shook her head fervently.

"No, no," she said soothingly, "it's actually...well, it's an old, um, coworker of mine. He's sick, and he doesn't have any family around to help."

She didn't know why the statement felt quite so deceitful coming out of her mouth. It wasn't a lie, after all. She was just choosing to omit the part about tracking down a murder suspect. It seemed too exhausting to explain all of that, somehow. Benjy frowned.

"Oh. So you're gonna go help out? That's sweet of you, babe," he sighed, stroking her hair.

"It's just something I need to do," Faye muttered, feeling guilty. "But anyways, if you could, you know, help me with Mr. Lee a little..."

Benjy nodded.

"Of course. I'll just get Sandy to swap shifts with you and then he'll never even notice. How long do you think you'll be out?"

"Er..."Faye said, not meeting his eyes, "it could be, well, a few weeks..."

Benjy nodded resolutely and squeezed her tightly.

"Don't worry, honey. I'll take care of it."

Faye smiled and kissed his neck, and he moaned quietly and pulled her tighter, but she wiggled out of his embrace. He laughed helplessly as she straightened her uniform and opened the closet door.

"Don't leave me like that," he called, pouting in a playful way, but Faye blew him a kiss and waltzed back into the diner to take more orders before Mr. Lee really laid into her.

The day passed in a blur of exhaustion. The special of the week was onion rings, and the smell of the deep fried oil clung to her clothing and hair when she left at 5 pm that night and walked home. Benjy, too, had been clingy; pawing at her and covering her with kisses in the supply closet before she clocked out for the day. She couldn't help but walk with a spring in her step as she trotted into her apartment, giddy at the thought of abandoning the diner for a few weeks. Was she a little too happy to be getting some time away from Benjy, too, she wondered? Oh well, she reassured herself, everyone needs some alone time.

Faye busied herself with packing a small duffel bag, unsure exactly what to bring. What was the weather like in Tharsis City this time of year? It was March, and although it was wet and windy here on Ganymede, she remembered blisteringly hot days on Mars. She settled on a pile of short dresses, t-shirts, and shorts, and after a moment's consideration, threw in an old bikini: a black and white striped set she'd worn for sunbathing back on the Bebop. Makeup and paperbacks went into the pile next, and she waited until the bag was almost full to carefully place her plastic-wrapped beta tape on the top of the clothes where it wouldn't get crushed or jostled around too much. Satisfied, she zipped it up and placed it by the door. She took a long shower, savoring the hot water as she thought apprehensively about how terrible the plumbing was aboard the Bebop. She wondered if Jet had fixed anything up since she left.

Faye dressed herself in a short black dress and her old red sweater before affixing her Glock to her thigh holster. Slipping on a pair of brown boots, she surveyed herself in her cracked mirror, smoothing her shoulder-length hair behind her ears and tucking back her bangs. Casting a critical eye at her reflection, she unzipped the duffel bag one more time and pulled out a tube of lipstick, coating her lips in a dark burgundy. There. Perfect. It made her look tough.

She shouldered her bag and checked around her apartment one last time, locking windows and flicking off light switches. The sun was setting, and she pulled out her communicator to double check the harbor address that Spike had given her. It was a short walk, and she set off into the night, the sunset casting a pleasant golden glow across the dirty city.

Faye reached the Bebop after fifteen minutes, a little sweaty and cranky from lugging her duffel bag. Spike met her on the landing deck, shirtless in his training pants and a half-smoked cigarette dangling between his lips.

"Yo," he said, reaching out to take her duffel bag. She yanked it out of his reach and set it down beside her, stopping to push her hair out of her eyes and catch her breath. The last rays of the setting sun reflected against the metal landing strip of the Bebop, suffusing the ship and the surrounding harbor with glimmering red light. The smell of jet fuel mixed with the salty ocean air and Spike's cigarette smoke ignited a powerful wave of nostalgia in her; it reminded her of long-gone vacations and early mornings waiting at the airport. She fought down a wild laugh of excitement, forcing herself to cast a cool gaze in Spike's direction.

"Yo yourself. When are we taking off?"

"In thirty. I'll need you to check the fuel supplies down in the basement before we go. Can you take off that dress so you can actually be helpful?"

"What, you wanna borrow it?" Faye shot back happily. "You'd look great it in, but it's mine."

Spike rolled his eyes violently and turned to enter the ship, his bare feet padding across the warm metal.

"Come on. Let's get moving."


	4. black orpheus

**author's note: sorry for the long wait! I had some real life issues to resolve, but from here on out I will do my best to update weekly. Reading your comments makes me so excited to write, so thank you very much! Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter...**

 **iv. black orpheus**

Faye shouldered her duffel bag and trailed behind Spike as they entered the Bebop. The old metallic smell of machinery and musty upholstery filled her nostrils immediately as they walked into the living room, and as her vision adjusted to the gloom, her eyes widened in amazement.

Every surface was cluttered with bonsai; hulking shrub-sized trees, tiny feathery creations, twisted roots, pots overflowing with foliage and leaves trailing across the pipes and wires criss-crossing the ship. Clearly, the absence of shipmates had allowed Jet's hobby to reach new and obsessive heights.

"Whoa," Faye breathed, running her fingers across the leathery branches of a nearby tree. Spike nodded.

"It's a real pain in the ass watering everything, let me tell you," he said, finding a rusted watering can nearby and poking the soil of a particularly hearty specimen before trickling water into its roots. "Finicky little sons of bitches, too, they die if they don't have enough water and they die if they have too much water. Jet left me detailed instructions, but, you know, I've never really been - "

"The delicate, cautious type, yes," Faye interrupted. "Right. Obviously," she finished wearily as Spike wove between the rows of trees, carefully testing the moisture of every plant and pruning errant branches here and there. He shot her a nasty look before moving on to the next cluster of plants on the metal staircase.

"So, uh, should I just...put this in my old room?" Faye asked, nudging her duffel bag with her toe. Spike glanced up at her from between two spindly branches.

"Yeah, or you can take Jet's, I guess." He straightened up and tucked a pair of pruning shears into his back pocket, dusting off his large hands. "You're not tired, are you? I wanted to get some planning done after we take off. I'll make some coffee."

"Nah," Faye muttered, dragging her bag behind her as she walked down the hallway to her old room. When she reached the heavy metal door, she took a deep breath before pushing it open, feeling as though she was about to dive underwater.

Apparently, Jet had been using her bedroom for extra storage space. The floor was covered with unfamiliar boxes and broken bits of machinery, although she spotted forgotten tubes of her lipstick and lint-covered pairs of lacy underwear. The old VCR player and television sat huddled at the foot of her bunk, and everything was covered with a blanket of white dust. She edged through the clutter to sink onto the hard mattress, and a layer of dog hair and dust billowed up in a cloud from the bedding. Sneezing violently, she dumped her duffel bag on the corner of her bed and sat for a moment, wiping her nose on her sweater sleeve.

 _Why do you have to go? Where are you going? What are you going to do, just throw your life away like it was nothing?_

"Hey," Spike was calling from the hallway, "you about ready? Hurry up already, I wanna take off."

Faye glanced up to see Spike standing in her doorway, still shirtless and clutching a pot of coffee that smelled charbroiled.

"Geez, Spike, I could have been naked in here, you know," she snapped. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to knock first?"

Spike made a spluttering sound of exasperation, and she stood up abruptly and brushed past him before he could see her face.

* * *

As the Bebop hummed through the last wisps of Ganymede's atmosphere, Faye poured herself a steaming mug of bitter coffee and curled up in a corner of the old yellow couch in the living room. Spike clanged around in the control room, setting their course to Mars and checking the fuel tanks, and Faye could hear him cursing periodically as alarms bleeped and levers screeched in rusty protest. The Bebop, like its owner, was suffering from serious internal ailments.

Sometime during the last year, Faye seemed to have lost her space legs, and the vibration of the metal floor and the flashes of light whizzing past the portholes made her stomach lurch dangerously. The couch was mustier and smellier than she remembered, too. Pressing two fingers to her mouth, she willed herself to breathe deeply until the nausea passed. After a few minutes, she noticed that the clanks and clunks from upstairs had abetted, and she glanced up to see Spike walking into the living room, wiping his oily hands on an old rag and yawning.

"Damn piece of junk. I've been telling Jet he needs to scrap the thing and start over, but - what's wrong with you?" Spike said, glancing towards the couch. Faye emitted a quiet groan and shook her head, and he grinned down at her. "You're not seasick already, are you? Geez. Hold on, I have something for that."

Faye shook her head fervently, knowing exactly what Spike's brand of medicine entailed, but he had already disappeared down the hall, his bad leg making a whispery sound as it dragged against the floor. He came back clutching his wooden medicine box under one arm and buttoning his yellow shirt with the other hand.

"Here, this will set you straight," he muttered, perching on the arm of the couch and digging through the box. Pungent herbal smells wafted from the box, and Faye winced as bile crept up her throat. After a moment of rummaging, Spike pulled out a baggie of shimmering black powder. He opened the baggie and pinched out about a tablespoon of its contents, depositing it into his large palm.

"No lizards, please," Faye croaked, but Spike ignored her and deftly tipped the powder into her coffee cup. The mixture fizzed and burbled.

"It's not lizards, but it'll do the trick. Drink up already. I wanna get some work done."

Faye glared at him and sipped hesitantly. Actually, it tasted fine; a little chocolatey, and after an experimental pause she felt much better. Spike watched as she downed the rest of it, fidgeting with a lighter and jiggling his long legs.

"Better?"

Faye nodded. "Yeah. I don't want to know what it was." She glanced at him and saw that he had missed a button and fastened his shirt wrong, and before she thought too much about it she reached towards him and touched the empty buttonhole, her fingers brushing the warm skin of his hard stomach.

"You did it wrong," she said flatly. He looked up at her in surprise, and Faye felt her palms sweating as their eyes met.

"Oh," he said mildly, unfastening the offending buttons and redoing them. Faye looked away and cleared her throat, covertly wiping her clammy hands on the couch cushions.

"Anyways," Spike said as though nothing had happened, retrieving his battered notebook from his pants pocket. He slapped it onto the coffee table, shoving a few bonsai plants out of the way. Faye tucked her hair behind her ears and waited.

"Let's get to work, then," he continued, squinting down at his scrawled notes. "Here's what I've got so far. We know that Sheila Taborn is dead." Faye nodded. "We know that this guy Arthur Rosario, the judge, we know that his prints are all over her apartment and her doorknob. And we know that he's a legendary slime ball."

"Do we?" Faye asked, peering down at his notebook. Spike's handwriting was so bad that she couldn't make out a single letter.

"Big time," Spike said grimly. "I did a little digging today and found quite a few complaints against him, mostly by young female pianists. Nasty comments, a few gropes here and there, bias towards the competitors he's sleeping with. You know the drill."

"Blech." Faye knew the type, all right. The piano teacher who stood too close, peeked down blouses, rubbed backs just a little too gently.

"Right, and it seems like these murder charges are coming as no surprise. Only problem is, we really don't have a leg to stand on. Rosario's alibi is golden."

"So what do we do?" Faye asked, pulling out a cigarette and hunting around on the plant-cluttered table for a lighter. "Track him down? Make him talk? Doesn't seem too hard. He's _gotta_ be the guy, right?" Her fingers closed around the lighter, and she grabbed it and lit her cigarette, taking a long drag and blowing a tendril of smoke up towards the metal fan.

"No way. This guy's got syndicate protection. 24/7 muscle around him, and I'm sure it's amped up since the charges." Spike pulled out a newspaper clipping and shoved it under her nose triumphantly. "This is what we do."

Faye snatched it out of his hands and held it at arm's length, scanning it rapidly. It was a small blurb in the Tharsis Times arts section, announcing the 2071 finalists in the Alba City International Piano Competition. Grainy black-and-white headshots appeared next to each of the ten finalists, along with a brief biography. The murdered pianist Sheila Taborn was included in the list, beaming happily out from the newsprint.

"So?" Faye remarked after a pause, raising her eyebrows. "What's this supposed to mean?"

"Don't you see?" Spike groused, plucking the article from her hands. "What it means is that somewhere in this list of finalists is our ticket to getting close to Rosario."

Faye shrugged. "How's that?"

"Think about it," Spike urged, gesturing towards the article. "Nine of these pianists lost last year. One of them is dead, Sheila, but the rest? I'd bet anything that they'll be applying again this year. There's no rule against re-entering year after year, and I'd imagine more than a few of them have an axe to grind with Rosario and the other judges."

Faye ground out her cigarette in a nearby bonsai pot and pursed her lips.

"I mean..." she said slowly, chewing on the inside of her cheek, "yeah...yeah, I guess that does check out." The plan began to dawn on her in stages, and the old thrill of a successful bounty hunt tingled around the edges of her consciousness. "Okay. Yeah. Yeah! So we just gotta...what. Bribe someone? Call them all up and see if one of 'em will let us...um...pretend to be their manager? Or, you could be the manager. I'd be more of a artist rep type, personally, I suppose..." she mused, exhilarated by how quickly the ideas were coming together.

"Bingo," Spike said, nodding. "That's...uh...exactly what I had in mind too," he continued, leaning back into the couch cushions and exhaling. They were quiet for a moment, Faye's mind working furiously, and when her communicator buzzed loudly in her sweater they both started slightly. Faye yanked the communicator out of her pocket and glanced down at the number. Benjy.

"Ah, hold on a sec," she said vaguely, scuttling off the couch and down the hallway. She flipped open the screen and turned away from Spike as Benjy's face filled the screen. He smiled widely at the sight of her, his blue eyes crinkling boyishly.

"Hey, Benjy," she said quietly, tilting the screen so that Benjy only saw blank wall behind her.

"Babe! I miss you so much," he crooned. "How's it going? You didn't answer my messages. I was worried," he said, furrowing his brow.

"Sorry," Faye said, lowering her voice and retreating farther down the echoing hallway, "I was, uh...really really tied up earlier. At the hospital," she added virtuously.

Benjy nodded, his eyes wide and soulful. "How's he doing?"

"Well," Faye said, "he, um, he's very ill. It's looking very, very bad, in fact. I might have to stay longer than I expected."

Benjy sighed in a gust of noisy air. "All right. Do what you need to do."

"How's everything?" Faye asked, eyes darting over the screen to ensure that the hallway was still Spike-free. "How's work?"

"Work's fine," Benjy answered solemnly, "but I'm really worried about Mama. She's not feeling well today."

 _Probably the six bottles of champagne the other night,_ Faye thought to herself, trying to arrange her facial features into the correct expression of pity.

"Oh no. Poor Ethel. Hope she feels better soon."

"Yeah," Benjy said, "probably just the flu, but I dunno. I think that restaurant put something in the food. Are you feeling okay?"

Faye heard Spike's footsteps approaching. "I feel fine. Listen, Benjy, the nurses are calling, I think I need to go in and uh, sign something. I'll talk to you later," she finished in a rush, slamming the screen shut before Benjy replied, just as Spike limped down the hallway.

"You done gabbing with Casanova there?"

Faye gave him a dirty look as he leaned against the wall, running his hands through his wild hair.

"Listen, Spike, just because you've never managed to keep a functional relationship alive - "

She froze mid-sentence, horrified, and Spike looked away and chuckled darkly.

"Nice. Thanks."

"I didn't mean anything," she said swiftly, but he waved a hand dismissively and turned to go, stalking towards his bedroom.

"Don't worry. Sounds like you guys have a great thing going. They say honesty is key, you know?"

Faye cursed under her breath and stood awkwardly for a minute, leaning her forehead against the cool metal wall of the hallway.

 _If you only knew._

* * *

 _2071_

They say that certain things stay in your muscles. Riding a bike. The walking route you took every day to get home from school. The bone-rattling feeling of firing a gun for the first time, a violent bucking eruption. Launching into a handstand. Playing the piano.

Faye fired up the Redtail, her hands shaking from fatigue and adrenaline. She didn't have the energy to find a map, or to ask someone for directions. It was a beautiful night to fly, at least: the night of the Lyrid meteor shower. Sparkling rain falling from the constellation Lyra, Orpheus's enchanted harp that played music so sweet that even the rocks and bushes clustered around to listen.

Faye piloted her zipcraft expertly, darting between flaming chunks of rock and humming a fragment of a Schumann piece over and over, wishing she could remember the next phrase of melody. Two small cardboard boxes sat beside her in the passenger seat, and she looked down occasionally to make sure they were secured. Jet's number flashed on her buzzing communicator over and over, and she ignored the calls until the screen went dark.

When had she last been in Old Shanghai? She had no idea. Her memory was still fogged, only occasionally granting her crystal-clear bursts of comprehension and recollection. She dodged a large meteor and steered the craft towards Earth's gates, scrabbling around in her glove compartment for some loose Woolongs to pay the gate toll.

Was she supposed to go to school in Shanghai? Yeah. That seemed right. The Shanghai Conservatory of Music. Right in the heart of the city. And one day - walking to her audition, perhaps, with her mother, nervously rehearsing her interview speech in her head as her mom fussed with her dress and fixed her hair until Faye swatted her away - she remembered passing a beautiful temple, and hearing the monks chanting, and the bells ringing, and the smoky incense snaking over the garden of yellow snapdragons.

Once Faye passed the Earth gates, her hands took over, and she let her mind go mercifully blank. It was like playing a concerto, really; once you got onstage, the orchestra and the audience and the anxiety all fell away until it was just you and the music and the glittering stars.

* * *

After Spike disappeared into his bedroom, Faye snuck back into the living room and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. She powered up the computer and pulled up the article that Spike had showed her earlier. She read the article more carefully this time, and a headshot that she hadn't noticed before leapt out at her. Frowning, she leaned closer, studying the contestant with the dark curly hair and interesting violet eyes until it hit her: the Beethoven pianist! The woman from the restaurant the other night. Faye clasped her hands together in satisfaction and quickly read the woman's biography. Her name was Louisa Cortez, she was born on Venus, and she had been a child prodigy, trotted around the solar system talk shows during her formative years like a show pony. Faye felt an upwelling of sympathy for Louisa. Child prodigies were generally doomed to unhappy adulthoods once the novelty of their youth faded, and Louisa seemed like no exception.

Sticking an unlit cigarette between her teeth and gnawing on it distractedly, Faye looked up Le Poivre Noir's website and found their phone number. She punched the number into her communicator excitedly, wondering what time it was on Ganymede. She counted eleven rings, holding her breath, and right when she had given up hope she heard a click on the end of the line as someone picked up.

"Le Poivre Noir. How may we be of service?" drawled a French-accented voice. The static was so thick that Faye could barely understand the man, but she cranked up the volume and pressed on.

"Hi there. I was wondering if you could give me the information of your pianist? I'm looking to book her for a private engagement," Faye asked in her best rich-lady voice: plummy and smooth and husky. There was a pause on the line.

"We do not ordinarily give out the information of our employees," the man replied, sounding bored, and Faye rolled her eyes.

"Listen, monsieur. My mother got terrible food poisoning from your lobsters the other night, and I'll go to the papers whenever I feel like it," she said, inspecting her nails.

"Are you _threatening_ me?" the man asked incredulously.

"I sure am," Faye replied cheerfully, crossing her fingers. She heard the distant sound of papers shuffling.

"Very well, then, _madam_ ," the man huffed. "Here is the number of Mademoiselle Cortez."

He recited the number, and Faye scrawled it down on the back of a fast-food wrapper.

"Thanks very much," she told him sweetly before hanging up the phone quickly. She dialed in Louisa's number next, her heart pounding, and Louisa picked up almost immediately.

"H'llo?" Louisa said, sounding sleepy.

"Hi!" Faye said brightly, realizing too late that she should have gotten her question straight before calling. "This is Faye Va- um, Leung."

"Hi, Faye," Louisa replied. "Do I know you?"

"No," Faye answered, "well, a little. I gave you a light at the Poivre Noir the other night, remember?"

"Er...oh, right, sure," Louisa said, her voice growing warmer, "yeah, thanks, Faye. What's up?"

Faye decided it was best to skip the small talk.

"Did you know Sheila Taborn?"

Silence. Faye ripped off a hangnail while she waited, and she heard Louisa draw in a long breath.

"I did. Why are you asking?"

"I'd like to catch the man who killed her," Faye said hurriedly. "I'm working with a...private investigator, and we'd like to work in tandem with someone who's planning on entering this year's Alba City. We thought that you might be one of those people."

"I am, yeah," Louisa said warily. "And what exactly do you want from me?"

"Access to Rosario. Basically, my...partner and I would like to act as your managers during the competition. If you get in."

"Huh."

Another long pause. Faye tapped her fingers against the desk, listening to Louisa's breathing.

"We have money. If you're in, I'll wire you half of it tonight. And if Rosario's the guy who did it, we really want him behind bars."

"Oh man. I don't know. I'd love to help you, but...this competition could really turn things around for me," Louisa said uncertainly. "I don't want to get mixed up in anything..."

"I hear you. We're not asking you to sacrifice your spot or anything. Believe me, I know how nuts these contests are. We just want to get closer to Rosario to see what he's up to."

"I can't fucking stand that bastard," Louisa said suddenly. "He's a creep. They think he did it? I bet he did," she continued. "You know what? Okay. Sure. Screw it. If he had anything to do with Sheila, then...yeah."

"Application deadline's in two weeks, right?" Faye asked, keeping her voice calm. "Good luck, then. I'll be in touch if you get in. I'm sure you will. That Pathetique you played was amazing."

Louisa laughed. "Thanks. I'm...not sure about this."

"Don't worry. And listen, we never had this conversation. Delete my number and forget about this."

"Duh," Louisa said before she hung up the phone.

Faye emitted a yelp of happiness as she threw the communicator against the table. She stood up and stretched her slender arms overhead, reveling in the victory and walking over towards the large bay windows to stare at the endless stars drifting past. A smile spread across her face as she imagined the satisfaction of telling Spike about her success. For a moment, she debated barging into his room and waking him up to tell him, but she realized all at once that she was absolutely exhausted. Mars's horizon glowed in the distance, painting the blackness of the sky with a pale tinge of icy blue dawn.

The thought of sleeping in her cluttered, dusty bedroom was depressing, so Faye ventured into the attic and dug around for a while until she found a relatively clean quilt wedged behind an ancient case of dog food. She made a mental note of where it was for future snack times, and headed back into the living room with the intention of making herself a bed on the couch. Without the sounds of Jet and Ed and Ein scuffling around, the ship was deadly quiet.

Against her better judgement, she stopped in front of Spike's closed door and listened carefully for signs of life. Slowly, slowly, she nudged the door open a crack. Spike was out cold, sleeping on his side in his sweatpants. His blanket was crumpled on the floor, and his thin face looked drawn with worry. Faye watched him for a few minutes before tearing her eyes away and gazing curiously around his room. A few snapshots were stacked on his nightstand, but Faye was too far away to see the inhabitants of the photos. A half-empty bottle of Suntory whiskey sat underneath his bead, and his dirty clothes lay scattered around the room.

Spike rolled over and stirred slightly, and Faye froze, trying to make her breathing silent. She edged backwards and closed the door gently before padding lightly back into the living room. She flopped onto the couch and pulled the wool blanket over herself, and once her eyes drooped shut she fell asleep immediately.

* * *

"Faye."

An urgent voice wove through her dreams, but she was in a math test, sitting in her old high school home room, and she couldn't remember anything about trigonometry.

"Faye. Wake up."

"Mmmm," she groaned, rolling away from the yellow sunlight streaming through her closed eyelids. In her dream, she erased a wrong answer and forgot how to use a calculator. A hand shook her shoulder insistently and she opened her eyes grumpily to see Spike standing overhead, his face intense and serious as he hovered over her.

"What?" Faye hissed, feeling sweaty and out of sorts from having slept in her clothes. She grew suddenly self-conscious of her unwashed face and unbrushed teeth, and she sat up and scooted away from Spike. "Oh!" she cried, remembering last night's achievement. "I got us a pianist."

Spike didn't respond, and Faye huffed in annoyance. "Did you even hear what I said? I got us a pianist!"

"Good," Spike replied uncomprehendingly. "We've landed in Alba City. We need to go see Jet. They just called. We need to go right now."

An ice cube slid into Faye's stomach. "Is he - did something happen?"

Spike sighed heavily and shoved his feet into his boots, gathering up his keys and a few crumpled Woolongs from between the bonsai trees.

"He took a bad turn overnight. The infection is spreading to his lungs and brain. Go get ready. There might not be much time."

Panic rose in Faye's chest, and she nodded and leapt from the couch. Through the windows, she could see the calm turquoise waters of Alba Bay, and she heard the gentle murmur of city traffic filtering in from the distant freeway. The ocean lapped against the hull, and even through the closed windows and doors she could smell the saltwater outside.

"And you might want to check the paper. There's been another murder," Spike called to her as she rushed into the bathroom to splash water on her face and gargle some mouthwash. "A 19 year old. You'll never guess what contest she was about to enter."


	5. troubled waters

**Hi! Here's two new chapters for the price of one. Because why not? I could be hit by an asteroid tomorrow and you'd never know how Chapter 6 ends, so there you go. I hope you enjoy!**

 **v. troubled waters**

"Another murder?" Faye said to Spike, aghast as she followed him out onto the deck. She squinted in the blinding morning sunlight reflecting off of the ocean and threw her hair into a messy ponytail as they walked. "What happened? Who is it? Not another pianist? Where was Rosario?"

Spike strode in front of her, his limp barely apparent as they crossed the Bebop's deck and darted across the busy street. Faye struggled to keep up, feeling shaky with adrenaline even as she tried to wake up fully, looking left and right as cars and motorbikes whizzed around them.

"Grab a paper at the hospital, but it's a pianist," Spike said as she caught up to him. "Lucy Nguyen. 19 years old. Played her debut in Ganymede last night and was found dead in her zipcraft this morning, floating somewhere around the Martian gates. Haven't heard anything about Rosario yet, but the ISSP says they'll release something later today."

He quickened his pace as they turned a corner onto a busy marketplace. Rows of vendors were setting up stands laden with jewel-bright spices and intricately decorated pottery. Faye peered around curiously as they rushed down the tent-covered avenue.

"How far are we going?" Faye panted, shading her eyes with her hand as beads of sweat started to drip down her face. The sun was already intense at nine in the morning. Spike stopped for a moment, glancing up at the street signs.

"One more block. Damn, it's hot."

They reached a large public square dotted with magenta flowerbeds and towering palm trees. One side was entirely taken up by a white marble building bearing a large sign reading THE LUCANZO INSTITUTE. Spike strode up the immaculate staircase and palmed open the heavy glass doors. Faye hung back for a moment, heart pounding uncomfortably.

"Come on," Spike called, holding the door for her. Faye shook herself and trotted up the stairs into the chilly air-conditioned lobby. The smell of hospital crept into her nose and she hesitated, dizzy, but Spike was already at the front desk, grabbing two visitor passes and speaking curtly to the glum-looking secretary.

They stepped into an elevator and rode in silence. Spike's mouth was set in a hard line, and Faye stared at her scuffed boots. The doors opened with a ding on the sixth floor, and they walked towards another secretary behind a desk.

"Who are you visiting?" she chirped, beaming up at them.

"Jet Black," Spike replied, shoving the passes at her. She glanced at a computer screen, and her smile hitched a little.

"Ah...it looks like Mr. Black is in isolation at the moment. No visitors allowed, I'm afraid."

"Bullshit," Spike growled, and the small women dropped her smile. "I'm gonna go in and see him. Come on, Faye," he said, walking past the desk.

"Sir! Come back here," the woman cried, standing up and reaching for a phone. "I'm calling security!"

"Ah, forgot about it, Deandre," yelled a gruff voice from down the hall, and Faye saw a very old man hobbling towards them in a long white coat. Holding a clipboard, he approached Spike and clapped him on the back. "Special guests. I'll deal with it."

"Thanks, Lucky," Spike muttered, exhaling. "Oh, right, Faye, this is Jet's doctor. And the guy who started this whole place. Richard Lucanzo."

"Ah," Faye said uneasily. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Lucanzo."

"Call me Lucky," he said, winking at her as he jotted something down on his clipboard. "Anyways," he continued as he turned back to Spike, his tone suddenly grim, "I'm sorry to say that the infection is spreading faster than we can control. We could attempt to operate and remove the infected areas, but it's reached his brain and lungs, and, well, you can't really stand to lose much of those."

They reached the end of the hallway and paused in front of a door. A sign taped onto the wall read BLACK, JET. ISOLATION PROTOCOLS ENFORCED.

"Don't be alarmed," Lucky said softly to Faye as he opened the door. "We believe that he is medicated past the point of distress, but at any rate, it may be a bit of a shock."

They stepped quietly into the room, and Faye's inhale caught in her throat. Jet thrashed and moaned in bed, his eyelids flickering wildly. His remaining arm was tied to the bed frame with a piece of cloth, and he strained at it, reaching towards the tangle of wires coming out of his chest. Faye shuddered when she noticed the breathing tube attached to his neck, jutting out of an angry gash across his windpipe.

"Why does he have that?" she whispered to Spike, who stared at Jet as he writhed and gasped.

"Tracheotomy," he replied in a monotone. "Kept pulling the breathing tube out of his mouth."

Lucky stood solemnly behind them, hands folded across his white coat.

"He's in pain," Faye said, "it's obvious he's hurting, can't you give him something else? What the hell is happening to him?" Her breath was coming in short, jerky spurts, and she tried to calm herself down. Beside her, Spike stood motionless and stony-faced.

"We've given him enough morphine to kill an elephant," Lucky replied. "Unfortunately, we can't increase the dosage safely at this point."

"How soon you could do the next treatment?" Spike asked. "I'll get the money. Just get it ready as soon as you can."

Lucky sighed and walked over to Jet's bedside, laying his withered hand on Jet's pallid forehead.

"He's too weak for the treatment right now. All we can do is keep him comfortable and hope that he can pull through this flare-up. If his fever comes down in day or two, we can discuss the next round of therapy."

"There must be something you can do," Faye snapped. "You're not telling me we're just going to sit around and - and - wait for him to..."

"No," Lucky said, interrupting her, "we're taking the very best care of him that we can." He gave her a sad smile. "But there are limits to medicine, and to what a human body can withstand. I'm no wizard."

Faye bit back a scathing retort and reminded herself that fighting with Jet's doctor was probably a bad idea.

"We should let him rest," Spike said from her side, his breath tickling her ear. "They say he's aware of what's going on, so he can probably hear us right now. Keep me posted, will you?" he said as Lucky scooped up his clipboard and turned to leave. The doctor nodded, and Faye and Spike followed him out of the room. Faye turned and looked at Jet once more as she closed the door, and all at once her vision started to blur. The smells of cleaning supplies and perfumed lilies and iodine and alcohol made her head throb, and she suppressed the urge to vomit. Her knees buckled, and before she knew what was happening, the world turned to static.

* * *

It was dark, and Faye didn't know where she was. Opening her eyes a fraction of an inch, she took in her surroundings. She saw a battered paperback a few inches away from where she lay, and she picked it up and squinted at the title: _Tao of Jeet Kune Do_ , by Bruce Lee. Throwing aside a thin blanket and sitting up, she gazed around the shadowy room, and it dawned on her: this was Spike's bedroom.

Faye got out of bed stiffly, noticing a egg-sized lump on the back of her head. Massaging it and grimacing, she padded barefoot out into the hallway and into the living room. Spike lay dozing on the yellow couch. A newspaper folded over his face fluttered slightly every time he exhaled. Faye cleared her throat and walked over to him, lifting the newspaper away from his head.

"Hey," she said, her voice gravelly with sleep. He stirred and looked up at her blearily.

"Oh," he said, yawning. "You're up. Thought you'd sleep longer."

"What _happened_?"

Spike stood and stretched his wiry limbs with an audible creaking sound before answering, and Faye sank onto the vacated couch.

"You conked out at the hospital. Right when we were leaving Jet's room."

Faye felt her face flush. "Really? I passed out?"

"Like a ton of bricks," he said, scratching his stubble. "You got the flu or something? Weren't you feeling sick earlier?"

"Yeah, but..." Faye muttered, "but how'd you get me back here?"

"Lucky called us a cab," Spike replied mildly, staring fixedly at a spot on the ceiling. "Figured you'd rather have a bed than the couch." He paused. "And your room's filled with crap, so..."

"Oh," Faye said, wildly embarrassed. She had more questions, but Spike clicked his lighter in his pocket nervously and she could tell that they were treading into dangerous waters. She swallowed and looked at the floor.

"Well, thanks," she finished, standing up to join him. "Say, what time is it, anyways?"

"'Bout seven."

"We don't have anything to eat, do we? I'll go out and get something."

"And then you can tell me about the pianist," Spike said, sounding relieved that she had changed the subject.

"Oh yeah!" Faye said, brightening. She had almost forgotten about her successful night yesterday. "We have a lot of planning to do. I'll be back in a bit, then."

Twilight was falling as Faye walked through the sun-baked streets. The sunset cast long violet shadows over the clay buildings and turned the ocean to a shimmering indigo. She remembered passing a 24-hour grocery store earlier when they had walked to the hospital, and she walked slowly, peeking down alleyways and trying to remember exactly where she had seen it. As she rounded another corner, a storefront window caught her eye. It was a thrift store piled high with old electronics; rusted speakers and water-damaged communicators and dusty cracked computer screens. In the corner of the window, she spotted a Yamaha keyboard. She pushed open the door with a jingle and saw a very large man huddled over a cup of instant noodles in the corner of the store.

"Jus' a minute," he called through a mouthful of noodles, rising laboriously from behind a mound of junk. Faye leaned over the keyboard and tentatively pressed a few keys down: it was in remarkably good condition. She used to practice on a model like this: 88 keys, weighted enough to feel close to a real piano, but small enough to haul around to hotel rooms and apartments. The shopkeeper approached her, and Faye had to fight the impulse to gag when his body odor reached her nose.

"Pretty cool, right? It's a real antique, don't see this model around much but it still plays fine! Lots of extra features on this one too, built-in metronome, Rhodes patches, the works."

"Great," Faye replied distantly. "I'll take it. How much?"

The shopkeeper blinked. "You don't even wanna turn it on and try it?"

"That's all right."

He gave her a surprised look, pulling a calculator out of his pocket.

"If you say so. I could do...2600 woolongs."

"Why so cheap?" Faye asked. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," he said, shrugging. "But nobody's been interested in it for years. Most of my customers just want old Nintendo consoles, stuff like that."

Faye pulled out her money card and passed it over. The shopkeeper rang her up and rummaged around under his desk for a moment, pulling out a ragged keyboard case.

"Here, I'll throw this in with it. It's useless on its own, anyways."

Faye silently thanked whatever gods had arranged for her to encounter such a laissez-faire salesman and lugged the keyboard across the store to zip it into its case. She slung the case's strap over her shoulder and felt a twinge of panic when she realized just how heavy it was, but decided she could manage the walk home.

"Thanks, man," she call as the shopkeeper returned to his noodles. He raised a pudgy hand and waved as she lumbered out of the door with her purchase.

Luckily, the market turned out to be two doors down from the thrift shop, and she trudged inside, feeling the keyboard strap bite into her shoulder. The cashier gave her an incredulous look but said nothing as she filled a basket with ramen packets, instant curries, beers, and a carton of eggs. As an afterthought, she grabbed a couple of frozen steaks. Might as well have something good to eat while they sat around and waited for the results of the competition.

There was a newspaper stand next to the market, and Faye picked up a copy of the Alba City Times. Sure enough, there had been another murder.

 **CLAIRE DE LUNE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN!** Lucy Nguyen, 19, classical pianist, fresh off of her Ganymede Hall debut. Found beaten to death, floating in her zipcraft, somewhere between Jupiter and Mars. Claire De Lune playing on the stereo, again. Rosario was at the debut on Ganymede and had been seen entering her zipcraft at 9 pm that night, but had an alibi during the estimated time of death, again: an after-party at some club with a bunch of bigwig critics and managers.

Faye stared at the photo of Lucy, shaking her head. She was only a baby; fresh-faced and trusting and sweet. How could anyone hurt someone like that? And how could it not be Rosario? He must be bribing the cops.

 _We'll make you pay, scumbag,_ she promised.

Lugging both the keyboard and the bag of groceries proved to be more of a challenge that Faye had anticipated, and she started to sweat as she headed back towards the harbor. Night had fallen, and a chorus of springtime frogs sang from somewhere hidden amongst the palm trees and tropical flowers dotting the neighborhood. The air was warm, and she could smell the mingled aromas of gardenias and cooking smells and diesel fumes drifting down the streets. Her stomach rumbled, and she quickened her pace.

Faye remembered a shortcut through an alleyway that Spike had taken earlier, and she decided to take it again tonight, edging carefully down an alley. The keyboard caught on the corner of a dumpster, dislodging a bag of fish bones with a rancid-smelling clatter. Cursing, Faye extricated the keyboard and kept walking, but she heard footsteps coming from the end of the alley. She listened carefully, her ears pricked up: just one set of footsteps. She could take one person, no problem. Sure, it had been a while, but it was like riding a bike. Right? Her pulse increased, but she kept walking until the footsteps were about ten feet behind her.

"All right, then," she said, not unhappily. The footsteps stopped. "I could use a fight, I suppose."

As she prepared to turn around, cracking her knuckles and and putting down her keyboard and groceries, a large hand shoved her in the small of her back. Caught off guard, she lost her balance and fell hard, and her mouth scraped against the side of a dumpster. She tasted metallic blood and leapt to her feet, incensed. A shadowy form scurried backwards, clutching her groceries and her wallet.

"I don't think so, asshole!" Faye spat through a mouthful of blood as she lunged towards the man with a well-aimed kick. He was small and rat-like, snarling at her from underneath a thatch of greasy blond hair. Her boot made contact with his skull with a nauseating thud, and he fell like a rag doll. For good measure, Faye kicked him again in the chest, and he slumped against the side of the dumpster. Scowling, Faye yanked her groceries and wallet out of his limp hands, and shouldered the keyboard once more.

 _God damn it_ , she thought as she walked the remaining blocks back to the Bebop, trembling with nerves and anger. _I've lost my edge_.

Her comm buzzed in her pocket, and she groaned. Benjy, no doubt. _Not now, dear, I think I may have bitten through my tongue. Do say hello to your mother, won't you?_

She sulked her way back to the ship, clambering noisily through the entrance as the keyboard banged against the walls. Lugging the keyboard into her bedroom, she shut the door quickly and took the groceries into the kitchen. Through the porthole, she spotted Spike's seated silhouette out on the deck, smoking and dangling his feet into the ocean. Faye ran a washcloth under the sink and wiped her face clean, gingerly feeling the cut. It was about an inch long, and deep. She would need a bandage or it would bleed all over the place.

Spike appeared in the doorway. He wore his yellow shirt unbuttoned over another ratty pair of sweatpants. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he looked her up and down and made a sound under his breath. Faye turned away from him and started boiling water for ramen, feeling weirdly humiliated by her cut mouth and blood-covered shirt.

"Jesus, Faye," Spike said in a low voice. "That's a nasty cut."

"It's nothing," Faye said, opening a thawing package of steak and starting to slice it up. "Just tripped. Got us some ramen and actual steak, though."

"Bullshit," Spike said, striding towards her and stubbing out his cigarette on a nearby plate. Reaching out, he placed two long fingers on her chin and turned her face towards him. His brow furrowed. "What happened?"

Faye felt her stomach flip over as he studied the cut, her skin tingling under his careful touch.

 _Calm down, idiot,_ she told herself. _He'd do this with Jet, too._

She forced herself to make an irritated noise, chopping up the last segment of steak and throwing the knife into the sink.

"Really, it's nothing. Just some guy trying to take my wallet. I took care of it."

Spike's frown deepened. "One guy?"

Faye pushed his hand away. "I had my hands full, okay? It's not a big deal. I dealt with him, believe me."

Spike retreated, leaning against the wall and lighting a new cigarette. He ran his hands through his hair, looking dismayed.

"Geez, Faye, if we're going to catch Rosario, you need to be on your A game. His bodyguards are all syndicate. You know what these people are like. We won't get more than one chance to deal with him." He blew a smoke ring up towards the ceiling. "What's going on with you today? First the hospital, now this?"

"I can take care of myself just fine, lunkhead!" Faye shot back, temper flaring. "Why even get my help if you're that worried about me ruining everything!" Her mouth had started to bleed again, and she spat into the sink, retching slightly. The smell of the blood caused blurred images to run through her mind: the splintering airplane, her parents beside her, drops of blood floating into the air. She took a deep breath and pushed the memory away. Not now.

Spike said nothing, only fixing her with that strange gaze of his.

"Let me help you," he said quietly, watching her as she rummaged furiously through the freezer for some ice cubes. Faye ignored him and found a fossilized bag of frozen peas to hold against her swollen mouth.

"I'll train with you," he said. "I can help you get back into shape. So we can be ready."

"Yeah, right," Faye scoffed, but a small and resentful part of her knew that he was right. "What, you're gonna be my coach? Drive me to practice in a minivan? Sign me up for matches?"

Faye couldn't keep the scathing tone out of her voice. Annoyingly, she knew it was a good idea, (a very good idea, in fact), but her mouth burned with pain and she was hungry and her comm was buzzing again in her pocket, and hearing Spike talk to her in that pitying tone made her want to throw him against the wall. The water was boiling, and she dumped two blocks of noodles and a packet of salty seasoning into the pot. Spike continued to smoke. As the ramen cooked, she heated up a pan and threw the steak in, breathing in the smell hungrily as it started to sizzle.

"Fine," she said finally, flipping over the steak with a dirty chopstick. "I guess...that's not a bad idea."

While the food cooked, Spike vanished for a minute and returned with the ship's first aid kit. He opened it and handed Faye a bandage, and she accepted it wordlessly.

"Want me to do it?"

"Nope," she replied, not ready to accept his olive branch. _Yes,_ pleaded a pathetic little voice in her head. She pasted the bandage onto her cut and flinched as it touched the wound. Their dinner was ready, and she slid the steak onto a paper plate and ladled the steaming ramen into two bowls, handing one to Spike. They brought the food into the living room and settled down to eat in silence.

Faye wanted to talk about Jet, but something in the set of Spike's jaw told her that it wasn't the right time. She chewed the steak methodically (slightly over cooked, unfortunately), and wondered if Jet was dreaming. That was something she remembered about a week ago: the vivid dreamscapes that had filled her mind during her cryosleep; feathery sea creatures skimming the bottom of the ocean, her dream-self climbing through tangled jungle vines covering decrepit stone temples, hazy murmurs of childhood friends filtering through to her conscious mind. Could Jet hear people talking? Sometimes she could recall threads of conversation, seeping through a layer of icy water and hazy grey shapes clouding her vision. Or were those only dreams, too?

Spike finished his food in about thirty seconds and fired up the computer while Faye worked through her ramen noodles. The cut on her mouth made eating slow and painful, and she could only chew on one side. _Fuck you,_ she told her unknown assailant. _Hope you choke on your spit and die._

"Oh, the pianist," Faye said through a mouthful. "Look up that list from last year again. I got Louisa Cortez. Said she's up for it."

Spike looked up a photo of Louisa Cortez online as Faye finished eating and slouched into a corner of the couch.

"How'd you find her?"

"Heard her playing in a restaurant the other night," she said. "She's killer. I'm sure she'll get in."

"And you told the plan?" Spike asked, studying Louisa's photo closely and whistling appreciatively. Faye fought back a pang of jealously as she lit a cigarette.

"So I guess we better figure out what exactly we'd be doing to pass as this lady's managers, then," he said, squinting at the screen. "We should probably know everything there is to learn about this contest."

"Not necessarily. Managers are more like bodyguards. Only less killing, more screaming on the phone."

"Huh."

Spike pulled up the Alba City entrance requirements on the screen, and they scanned it together.

 _1) One original work or group of works by a Baroque composer (no transcriptions)_

 _2) One Chopin etude._

 _3) One work by a Classical composer (excluding Schubert)._

 _4) One work or group of works written by one composer after 2050._

"This is all Greek to me," Spike moaned. "I only know jazz."

"Nah, this is fine," Faye said. "I learned half this stuff when I was a kid," she continued airily, bragging a little.

"Oh, really?"

"Mm. Well, not the works written after 2050, obviously. God, I wonder what that stuff even sounds like."

"So why don't you enter the contest?" Spike said, smirking. Faye kicked him in the shin.

"Yeah right. Do you have any idea how long these people practice to enter something like this? We're talking years.

"Take a joke, will you?" Spike said without venom, absently rubbing his leg with a large palm. "Okay, take a look at this. More rules."

He clicked on a link that took them to a dense page of contest guidelines and requirements, detailing the way the judges would award points, the performance dress code, the allowance for comp tickets per competitor, and on and on until they reached a helpful section.

"Here we go!" Spike said triumphantly. "Artists are allowed no more than two persons to be present with them during the course of the competition, including but not limited to immediate family members, managers, artist representatives, therapists, page-turners, nutritionists, hypnotherapists, astrologists - really?" Spike interrupted himself, laughing.

Faye nodded. "They're all divas. And extremely superstitious."

"Shit, in that case, forget being this chick's managers. I can be her, uh, brother and you can be her guide dog."

"Hilarious, Spike. Really hilarious," Faye yawned, and she kicked him again for good measure.

They spend another thirty minutes combing through the competition's website, double and triple checking to make sure they hadn't missed any loopholes. After they had read every section of the webpage several times, Spike stood up and yawned hugely.

"Meet me on the deck at 8," he told her, cracking his knuckles. "Wear something you can actually move around in."

"8 am?" Faye said in horror. "In the morning?"

"You'll live," Spike said, walking down the hallway to his bedroom.

"Debatable," Faye grumbled at his retreating back.

Thanks to her accidental seven-hour nap in the middle of the day, she didn't feel tired in the slightest. Once she heard Spike's bedroom door close, she went back into her old bedroom and unzipped the keyboard from its case. She had forgotten that keyboards also needed stands and benches, and after a minute of frowning at it she decided that it would have to reside in her old bed, and she could use a box as a stool. After she selected a sturdy box, she took a seat and clicked on the power button. The front console lit up with friendly green lights, and a battered digital display flickered to life, offering her different sound options. Scratching at her bandaged lip, Faye selected Classic Grand and carefully tested the volume, keeping it just above inaudible.

 _One original work by a Baroque composer._

Timidly, as though it could burn her, Faye relaxed all ten fingers onto the keys, flexing them and stretching them. The beginning bars of Bach's G minor fugue cycled through her head, and she picked out the melody slowly. She had once spent an entire June mastering this piece, resentful at her parents for making her practice indoors when her friends were at the beach. Poor Lucy Nguyen, the murdered teenage pianist, probably spent her summers in the same way. Had she ever had a chance to enjoy her life, Faye wondered? Parents and teachers could be so demanding.

The left hand began the piece, setting up a puzzle-like web of complex countermelodies and chords. She stumbled over some tricky sections, but it was there, it was all there in her brain. Her fingers felt slow and sodden, out of practice for so many decades, and the fast passages were messy and imprecise.

But she remembered. Her eyes filled with tears, but she played on, taking tiny sections at a time and practicing them slowly until they felt effortless. The box she was seated upon was too tall for a bench, and the way she had to hunch down to reach the keyboard made her shoulders twinge. Still, she kept playing. She lost track of time until her communicator buzzed once more, and as she opened it she noticed that it was four in the morning.

Benjy again. Faye answered the call and positioned the screen so he would only see a blank wall behind her.

"Hi," she said very softly. "You're up late, aren't you?"

Benjy smiled at her, but his eyes were shadowed by purple circles.

"Hey babe. Yeah, couldn't sleep. I miss you," he said, his voice rough with fatigue.

"I miss you too," Faye said. And she actually did, she realized in surprise. It would be nice to go to bed with him, to lie in his well-muscled arms and listen to him breathe. "How's it going?"

"Pretty good," he said, leaning back onto a pillow. "Just working a ton, Lee's been a real ass but nothing new, you know. I'm still worried about Mama, she's really not herself right now." He sighed deeply, his face darkening. "How's your friend?"

Faye's throat tightened. "Bad. I went to the hospital - uh, I went back to the hospital, again, today, and he's got an infection. They're not sure he's going to pull through." Her voice cracked, and Benjy's static-blurred face fell.

"I'm sorry. It's good that you're there, though."

Faye nodded. "You better go to bed if you're working tomorrow."

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding and yawning, "but I wanted to see you before I went to sleep. You didn't answer any of my calls all day."

Faye glanced down at her missed calls and noticed 17 from Benjy. "Oh. Whoops. I must have had the volume turned down. I'll turn it back on."

"It's okay. I just worry about you."

"Mmm."

She stared at the screen without speaking for a second, and Benjy looked back at her, guileless blue eyes meeting hers through the communicator.

"I think I'll go to sleep, though," she said, feeling her eyelids droop. "You should do the same."

He nodded and blew her a kiss. "Night, Faye."

"Night, Benjy."

Faye closed the screen and pocketed it once more. Although she wanted to keep practicing, it was very late, and she really was getting tired, so she turned off the keyboard and the bedroom lights before walking back to the living room. She retrieved her blanket from underneath the coffee table, and laid down on the couch.

She closed her eyes and tried to drift off. Her body ached with exhaustion from her long, strange, violent, exhilarating day, but her mind was full of the feelings of Bach and kicking the guy's head in the alley and lugging the keyboard around and Spike's hand on her chin. Jet's tortured face appeared, and she pictured white-haired Doctor Lucky beginning his morning rounds right about now, checking in to see which of his patients had survived the night. She tried to relax by imagining Benjy next to her, but it wouldn't stick; somehow, she couldn't get his face right in her mind's eye.

 _He didn't even notice my hurt lip,_ she realized suddenly.

Spike's closed bedroom door was visible from her position on the couch, and she opened one eye and looked at it. He was fast asleep, no doubt, contentedly snoring away. Was he asleep?

Eventually her tired body overtook her whirling brain, and she fell into a deep sleep.


	6. so many stars

**vi. so many stars**

"You need to be looser," Spike was saying, demonstrating his elegant right hook. "You're all tense. You'll end up hurting yourself more than the other guy."

"Mmmph," Faye replied, intensely grumpy. Spike had shaken her awake on the couch at 7:30 that morning, brandishing a mug of lukewarm coffee and a sweat rag. They were halfway through Spike's Jeet Kune Do routine, and every part of Faye's body already ached. None of the clothing she had packed was particularly suited for athletics, so she was wearing a ratty T-shirt of Spike's over her old yellow hot shorts. She went barefoot, and the metal of the deck was already hot from the morning sun overhead.

"Are you even listening?" Spike said, wiping the sweat from his hairline. "Here, try it again."

He positioned himself in front of Faye, and she readied herself.

"Okay. Go."

Faye aimed another slow-motion right hook at Spike's head, but he parried it easily, batting her hand away like a fly. Faye groaned in frustration.

"Can't we just spar? All this Tai Chi is boring," she complained. There was a battered deck chair in the hangar, and she was desperate to slip into her bikini and fall asleep sunbathing for an hour or two.

Spike only laughed. "Hey, if you can't do it slow, you can't do it fast. Go from the beginning again."

"Oh, come on! I've got it by now."

"In your dreams, Romany. Try it again."

Faye rolled her eyes and started the routine from the top, breathing hard as she worked through the excruciatingly slow kicks, turns, and punches. Spike watched dispassionately, snapping critiques here and there.

"Leg up. No, other leg. You're not using your core enough - tighten it up."

Spike was only satisfied after she had gone through the routine top to bottom three more times, and Faye collapsed onto the deck, sweating and cursing.

"Fuck you, Spiegel."

"You'll get used to it," Spike said, shrugging. "Drink some water before you pass out again, though."

"You're enjoying this too much," Faye wheezed. Spike winked and went back inside, and she flopped out onto her back, panting.

The morning sun climbed higher in the sky. Spike disappeared into some distant corner of the ship to tinker with something, and Faye played through her Bach fugue several more times until she was fairly certain she remembered the whole thing. Around noon she wandered into the kitchen to eat some leftover ramen, and after she ate she browsed online to find more sheet music. A Chopin etude, maybe a Beethoven sonata, and a modern piece...the last one would be trickiest. She powered up Jet's glitchy old printer and printed out a stack of music for herself.

Lucky called Spike with an update with Jet's condition later that afternoon, and Faye eavesdropped from the kitchen.

"He's holding steady, but the fever won't break. It's best that he rests for now. Perhaps in a day or two you can come back and see him, and we can discuss how to move forward. You do hold power of attorney, correct?"

Faye watched as Spike scratched his nose, looking puzzled. "Power of attorney? Er..."

"Does Jet have any living relatives? An estranged spouse, perhaps?"

"Um...not that I know of, no."

Lucky sighed a crackly sigh over the communicator. "These matters are always difficult. In this case, however, would it be safe to assume that Jet would trust you to make decisions in his best interest?"

Spike walked outside onto the deck after that, and Faye didn't hear the end of the conversation. Her wrists were starting to ache from how much keyboard she had played already, so she took a break from practicing and slipped into her bikini. She found the beach chair in the hangar and dragged it out into the sun, where she stretched out and covered herself with tanning oil. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the coconut perfume of the oil and listened to the turquoise water slapping the hull.

She didn't fall asleep, exactly, but her mind dipped into dreams as she lay in the sun, feeling the warmth sink into her bones. At some point she sensed rather than heard Spike moving nearby, and when she cracked her eyes she saw him standing about twenty feet away, dangling a fishing rod over the edge of the hull and smoking. He must have thought she was asleep, because she could feel his eyes on her body even from this distance. The sun was wickedly hot overhead, but a shiver ran down her spine. She closed her eyes again but angled her legs very slightly.

Faye must have fallen asleep for real after that, because when she opened her eyes again the sun was setting and her skin felt prickly with sunburn. She peeled herself off of the plastic chair and padded back inside to see Spike sitting at the computer.

"Should we get some more work done?" Faye asked. Spike turned and looked at her, standing in her bikini in the doorway.

"You're sunburnt."

"Oh well. Whatcha working on?" Faye asked, walking towards the computer.

Spike turned off the computer abruptly as she neared him. "Nothing."

Faye frowned. "You sure?"

"Yep."

"Do you want to research more manager stuff?"

"Not particularly," Spike replied, not meeting her eyes.

"What's your problem?"

"No problem at all," he replied sullenly.

Faye stood watching him for another moment before shrugging and walking away. She was too sleepy to deal with an angsty Spike.

Back to practicing, then. She changed out of her bikini and pulled on a short sundress before returning to the keyboard. The Bach felt good and pliable under her fingers, so she moved onto the Chopin etude. Chopin was tricky and acrobatic and full of volatile mood swings, and it was difficult enough that she couldn't allow her mind to wander during the piece. Benjy called during a particularly difficult passage, and she ignored his call and continued playing. When she heard a knock on her door hours later, she was so startled that she yelped and knocked the sheet music off of the stand. Hurriedly, she threw a blanket over the keyboard.

"Yeah?"

Spike poked his wild-haired head through the door.

"What's that behind you?"

"Nothing," Faye answered coolly. Two could play at this game. He met her eyes for a second, puzzled, before breaking away and showing her a large bottle of Suntory whiskey.

"You wanna help me with this?"

Faye tried to remember any instances of Spike ever offering to share anything edible or drinkable with any of them in the history of his existence, and came up empty.

"Seriously?"

He shrugged, looking abashed. "It's no fun drinking alone anymore. It's nice out. Let's go outside."

Faye nodded and followed him out of her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

They went out onto the deck, and Faye gasped when she looked up at the night sky. It was dark enough here that the stars were blazing furiously, and she could see constellations that were usually invisible. Spike noticed her craning her neck and chuckled.

"Good shit, huh?"

"No kidding. Look how it's reflecting in the ocean, too," Faye said, pointing at the glowing specks in the water.

"That's plankton, actually. When the water gets really warm they glow neon blue like that."

"Oh. Cool."

They stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to proceed.

"Over there," Faye declared, pointing at the edge of the hull. Spike cleared his throat and followed her, plunking down beside her and dangling his spidery long legs into the black ocean water below. He was anxious, she realized, holding himself tenser than usual and looking everywhere but her.

The harbor was quiet tonight, with only a few golden lights glimmering on and off across the water as ships passed. Their feet left glowing blue streaks in the water every time they swished them back and forth.

"We doing this pirate style?" Faye asked. "No cups?"

"Eh, I hate doing dishes anyways," Spike answered, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. "Bottoms up," he said, wiping his mouth and passing the bottle to her. She took a tentative gulp and pulled a face.

"Blech. God. I dunno if I can do straight liquor without ice."

"That's not the Faye I remember," Spike said, casting her a sidelong look. "Don't tell me you've gone soft."

Faye snatched the bottle out of his hands the minute he finished his turn and took a much larger swallow to shut him up.

They passed the bottle back in forth in silence for ten minutes or so, and before long Faye's body started to transform into a languid, buttery sort of material. Her head buzzed pleasantly, and she leaned onto her elbows to survey the sparkling night sky above them. Beside her, Spike seemed to be relaxing, loosening his limbs and taking deeper breaths.

"They want to take him off the machines," Spike said suddenly. Faye turned to look at him.

"Jet...?"

He nodded, lighting a cigarette. Faye gestured towards the pack wordlessly, and he offered her one, lighting it with the tip of his own.

"But he hasn't even had the treatment yet."

"They think it won't matter either way."

"They can't do that," Faye said, her voice rising, "they need to at least try, I'll take out a loan, I'll find some other bounty, I can get more money for him!"

Spike shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Lucky won't proceed with treatment right now anyways. And there aren't any other bounties, you know? Rosario is all we can go on right now."

Jet gone. Even the idea of it made Faye's stomach drop into her knees. It couldn't be possible, Faye reassured herself. He was always the strongest of the group, always the toughest and most level-headed. Jet withstood bullets and strange poisonous animal bites and injuries and lived to tell the tale. He couldn't - wouldn't - die from something as banal as an illness. That would be wildly, cosmically unfair.

How much more death was she expected to witness? Her mother and father, dying right in front of her. All of her friends from her past life, living their whole lives out and dying of old age before she had a gray hair on her head. Julia and the shopkeeper woman, in the ransacked store that night, cold and lifeless...

She lowered herself onto her back, dangling her bare feet into the warm water. Spike sat hunched over his cigarette beside her. Before she could stop it, she felt her chest rising and falling with quiet sobs. Spike froze, his shoulders up around his ears. She was too drunk to be embarrassed, and she cried and cried, tasting the salt running into her mouth and stinging her wound. After a minute, she sat up and tucked her knees into her chest, chin trembling.

"Hey," Spike said, patting her on the shoulder timidly, "it'll...it'll be okay."

That made her laugh and then cry harder. "Will it?"

He suppressed a hiccup. "Yes. No. I don't know. Are you as drunk as I am?"

"Yeah," she admitted, wiping her nose as her sobs subsided. "Spike..."

He turned and looked into her face then, his mismatched eyes intense even in the starlight.

"Yeah?"

She met his eyes, and the words she wanted to say died on her lips. He watched her intently, and she felt her heart racing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that they had crossed a line tonight. In this moment, she could say anything and it would be forgotten in the morning.

"Don't you miss her?"

He looked away and flicked his cigarette butt into the ocean.

"She was only a dream," he said bitterly. "It was never real. What's there to miss?"

"I don't think that's true," Faye said softly. "She was real. And she really loved - "

Spike stood up abruptly, flung off his shirt, and dove off the side of the deck. Faye gasped and leaned over as he vanished beneath the dark water before resurfacing, shaking his wet hair like a dog. Every time he moved he left a phosphorescent blue trail in the water.

"Get in, Valentine!"

Faye gaped at him. "You're gonna drown," she informed him, hiccuping. "You're way too trashed to swim."

He swam back and tugged at her feet, and she screeched and kicked him away.

"Come on," he said, smiling up at her. Faye scowled at him, but before her sober mind could intervene, she pulled her sundress over her head and stood on the deck in her bra and underwear. She knew, vaguely, that the time to turn back had passed, and so she took a lungful of air and leapt off of the deck, plunging down into the cool water.

Opening her eyes underwater, she saw the shimmering outline of Spike's body nearby and swam next to him. She surfaced, spitting out saltwater and wiping her eyes.

"It's cold!"

"You're just a wuss," Spike said, splashing her. Faye turned onto her back and looked at the sky again. She stayed like that for a long time while Spike paddled around, occasionally muttering about fish bumping into his legs in a tipsy way. The glittering plankton in the ocean and the constellations above made her feel like she was floating in a blanket of stars.

Presently Spike was scrabbling back onto the deck, and he offered his outstretched hands to her.

"Here, I'll help you out."

She took his hands and he dragged her ungracefully onto the deck, where they both collapsed into a soggy heap, laughing. Faye moved to sit up, but Spike kept holding her, his wiry arms wrapped around her body. Her heart leapt into her throat, and when she tried to swallow her mouth went dry.

"I don't know if..." she began in a papery voice. Spike moved his hand up to her neck, tracing its contour. She exhaled shakily, and he ran his fingers slowly through her wet hair.

She could still put a stop to it. It was wrong. Was it wrong?

She softened her body and leaned into him, and he responded by kissing her, very gently. He tasted bittersweet; whiskey and smoke and salt and honey. Warmth spread from her chest down to her thighs, and she could feel him wanting her too. She pulled away. Spike made a small sound in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but Faye kissed him back, more insistently this time, pressing herself against him.

If it had been daytime, if they were sober, if they were bickering as usual, it would have been easy to see what was wrong with the picture. But there in the darkness, surrounded by the stars and the ocean, with his warm hands on her, her head spinning with whiskey, Faye couldn't remember for the life of her why this was such a bad idea.


	7. lady sings the blues

**you didn't think I was giving you a happy ending _already_ , did you? not a chance! ****thank you for reading and commenting and I hope you like the newest installment...**

 **vii. lady sings the blues**

 _2071_

God, Julia really was beautiful.

Faye drummed her fingers on the side of the red convertible as Julia drove, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. In Faye's imagination, Julia had taken many forms: tall and raven-haired and leggy, or a curvy redhead, or maybe a Geisha-perfect porcelain doll. Somehow, Faye had never pictured the girl of Spike's dreams looking so, you know... _normal_. Soft honey-blonde hair. Blue-grey eyes framed by faint smile lines. Slightly freckled skin, small and slender underneath her trench coat and turtleneck. You wouldn't stop and stare if you passed her on the street. And yet, sitting next to her in the car now, Faye felt a strange magnetic pull; wanted to be around her, to make her laugh, to see what lay underneath the calm surface.

"You saved me," Julia called to Faye over the rushing wind.

 _I couldn't. I tried. I was too late. I wanted to save you._

Had mere hours passed, or was it days? Faye didn't know anymore. She hadn't slept in so long. It didn't matter. Time stretched into taffy, and everything was vividly unreal and colored with the acrid taste of nightmare.

She landed the Redtail in Old Shanghai amidst the wreckage of an asteroid-cratered shopping mall. She was almost out of fuel, and the zipcraft sputtered to a halt once she yanked out the key and climbed out of the hatch, carefully holding the two cardboard boxes as she picked her way between ruined hunks of metal and concrete. She didn't have far to go.

 _Ordinary. The kind of beautiful, dangerous ordinary that you just can't leave alone._

The sun would rise soon. She reached the temple gate and paused, staring up at the yellow walls. This area of town was still relatively intact, and it looked just like she remembered. The monks were already awake, and she heard the quiet murmur of their chanting coming from inside the building. She pushed open the gate and stepped inside.

 _You're the one still tied to the past, Spike._

* * *

Faye felt like her eyes and mouth were filled with sand. Her head throbbed ferociously, and her stomach lurched with soul-crushing nausea. Cracking open one bloodshot eyelid, she groaned and rolled onto her side.

Jesus. Without a doubt, this was the worst hangover of her whole stupid do-over life. She shivered as her skin broke out into a prickly sweat, and she smelled the whiskey seeping out of her pores.

"Ughhhhhhhhhh," she moaned, clutching her stomach.

She was in Spike's bed again. How had she ended up there? She glanced around the bedroom, but Spike was nowhere to be found.

"Hey," she croaked. There was no reply, and she tried again, more loudly. "Hey!"

Morning light streamed through Spike's curtains, illuminating tiny dust motes as they floated across fractured sunbeams. Everything was quiet.

Faye replayed the events of the previous night. She had been practicing, and Spike knocked on her door with the whiskey, and they went out onto the deck to drink, and she'd drunk enough to kill a horse, and they had gone swimming, and then...

 _Oh, fuck._

A flush spread across her cheeks and neck. They had kissed, but then what? She remembered, hazily, stumbling back inside and laughing as they dripped saltwater onto the floor, but after that, her memory went blank. For all she knew, they could have played chess all night, or discussed muffin recipes, or, well...

Damn it all to hell. Her still-recovering memory was a leaky, useless sieve. She laughed mirthlessly and buried her head underneath a pillow.

And Benjy, she realized much too late, her face burning. Oh god. She would have to tell him. Or break up with him. He was sweet. He didn't deserve this.

Eventually the nausea subsided enough for Faye to get out of bed. She was still wearing her ocean-damp underwear and bra, and her sundress lay discarded on the floor. She pulled it on and edged into the hallway, holding onto the wall for balance.

The ship was silent. Faye staggered through the rooms looking for Spike, pausing occasionally to clap a hand to her mouth, but he was nowhere to be found. Her heart sank. When she reached the garage, it was no surprise to see the Swordfish missing, drips of oil splattering the floor where it had been parked.

What did she expect, really? Since when did Spike stick around?

He was a stray cat, darting in and out whenever he felt like it. Not that she could even blame him, really, she mused; she used to be that way too, until her memories came back and it was too much work to keep leaving everything behind.

She went back inside. A small part of her foolishly hoped to find a note scrawled for her somewhere amongst the bonsai and ramen noodles and computer parts, but everything was how they had left it last night. She couldn't even call Spike, because she didn't have his communicator number.

Faye collapsed onto the couch, feeling foolish and exhausted and terribly alone.

She would go see Jet once she cleaned herself up and got some food to stay down, but before that she wanted to see a friendly face. She found her communicator buried underneath a pile of newspaper clippings on the coffee table and called Benjy.

Usually he picked up on the first or second ring, but Faye counted fourteen rings on the end of the line before he picked up.

"Oh - hey, Faye," Benjy said, sounding surprised. "Hold on a second," he said, the screen going haywire as he adjusted something on his end. "Okay, got it."

"I got mugged," Faye burst out, pointing to her cut mouth. "Cut my lip on a dumpster. You didn't notice last time."

Benjy paused for a beat.

"Geez, babe, I'm - I'm so sorry. Are you okay?!"

He looked genuinely concerned, and Faye felt even worse.

"I'm okay. He didn't get away with my stuff."

"Atta girl," he replied, smiling. "Maybe it's time to come home, though? Any updates?"

"He's still hanging in there, but they're monitoring the infection until - " Faye started, but Benjy suddenly turned away from the camera to fidget with something on his bed.

"Good, good," he said in a distracted way, pushing a pile of clothing away quickly, but before it was out of view Faye spied a pink satin nightgown mixed in with Benjy's dirty work clothes and plaid boxer shorts. Her eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth, but Benjy turned back to face her and smiled brightly as he spoke again.

"Do you want me to come out and help? Is there anything I could do? I'm thinking of quitting Lee's place, honestly, Mama needs so much help these days I'm missing work all the time anyways."

Faye shook her head slowly. "No...that's...that's okay, Benjy, thanks." She looked at her feet. "Listen, I, uh...I have to go. Bye," she finished abruptly, shutting the communicator closed with a snap.

* * *

"He's still fighting," Lucky said softly. "You haven't lost him yet."

Faye sat next to Jet's bed, hunched over in an uncomfortable metal chair and staring into Jet's ghostly face. The incision in his throat burbled with a pinkish froth every time the breathing tube pumped another breath into his lungs. His eyes rolled frantically behind their closed lids, and his arm jerked and bent in odd angles. Faye buried her face in her hands for a moment and took a deep breath.

"And you can't give him anything else for pain?"

"His heart is too weak," Lucky said, jotting something down on his clipboard. "There's a chance that anything stronger could stop it entirely. But he's tough as nails. Don't give up yet."

"I didn't say anything about giving up," Faye said irritably, but Lucky clapped a withered hand on her shoulder and turned to go.

The blinds were drawn in the room, and the only light came from the glowing screens monitoring Jet's vital signs. He had even more IVs pumping into him today, and the veins in his arm and neck were bruised purple from the needles. The corners of Faye's mouth pulled downwards and she laid her small hand on Jet's enormous one, feeling irrationally awkward.

"Um," she began, swallowing, "Jet, it's...it's me. Faye. Ahem. I'm not sure if you can hear me."

She thought she felt a tiny spasm of movement in his fingers, so she continued.

"Listen. I don't know where Spike is, but we're going to get you out of here. There's a bounty...a murderer, actually, and I don't know how, but we're going to bag him and get the money for the rest of your treatment."

She paused to clear her throat, feeling absurd but determined to get her message across.

"So...you know...oh, hell, Jet, don't die on us, okay?"

She definitely felt Jet's hand move this time, and the heart rate monitor started to bleep loudly. Two nurses burst into the room, and Faye jumped up from the chair. The nurses descended on Jet like a pair of vultures, poking and prodding as they double checked his drips and tubes and bandages.

"It's best not to overstimulate the patient," the older nurse told Faye sternly. "It's very dangerous for his nervous system."

"Oh - right," Faye stuttered, backing away and stumbling out of the door. She hurried down the hallway and back into the elevator, breathing hard and hoping she wouldn't pass out again.

Even in the depths of her hangover misery, she felt a small glimmer of hope as she trudged home. Jet could hear her. She was sure of it. They couldn't throw in the towel yet. Even if Spike didn't mind abandoning him, she thought savagely, even if _he_ didn't care, she would keep trying, she would catch Rosario and get the bounty and pay for the treatment. She certainly didn't need Spike's help.

Faye paused before she walked through the Bebop's door, allowing herself exactly three seconds of hope that Spike had returned in her absence. The Swordfish was still missing from the garage, and unless he was hiding in a particularly secluded spot in the attic, Spike wasn't anywhere aboard the ship.

No matter. Faye had work to do. She sat down in front of her bed and turned on the keyboard, ripping through a couple of lightning-quick scales and exercises to warm up her hands. Now that the Bach and the Chopin were in good shape, she would learn a Brahms intermezzo (A major, opus 118). The music was haunting; golden-hued and melancholy and tinged with sorrow. This one was easy, because she had performed it many times in her old life.

It was her dad's favorite piece, and when he invited his friends from the university over for cocktail parties, he would drink Talisker scotch until he was red-faced and ask her to play for them. Sometimes Faye would sulk and hide in her room, but usually she begrudgingly agreed to it, grinning shyly and sitting on the piano bench in her pajamas in front of everyone.

"You play it so beautifully, sweetheart," her father would say, wiping his eyes with a napkin. Faye would blush and roll her eyes, too much of a teenager to enjoy the praise.

Tonight, she was alone. Tonight, the music would keep her company.

* * *

Eight days passed. Faye forgot to eat until the third day, and even her skintight clothes started to hang loosely on her thin frame. When she looked in the mirror, naked before a long-overdue shower, she gasped at her reflection. Her green eyes were sunken in her pale face, and her cheekbones and hipbones jutted out at sharp concave angles. Benjy called once, and she let it go to voicemail. He sent her several messages, but she didn't have it in her to reply.

 _Hey baby I kno you're mad at me but I dont know why. Call me_

 _Are u mad at me? I'm sorry. Need to talk tho can you pick up your phone?_

 _Faye can u call me?_

She erased them all and muted her communicator.

Every morning she walked in the hot sun to the hospital. Jet didn't improve, but he didn't get worse, either. Lucky recited his vital signs to her, showing her charts on his clipboard and explaining why they couldn't give him whatever he clearly needed to recover. Faye understood about half of it, and nodded during the pauses.

When she got home, she would practice keyboard until the sun went down, occasionally drifting into the kitchen to crunch on some dry ramen noodles crumbled into a bowl. If she couldn't sleep, she turned on the computer and researched frightening medical terms and drug trials until her eyelids grew heavy. Worried that her fighting stamina would disappear, she forced herself to do push-ups and jumping jacks in the mornings, her bare feet slapping against the Bebop's metal floor and echoing through the empty halls. She craved meat after a couple of days, so she returned to the storage room and ate the can of dog food, gulping it down noisily. The bonsai started to wither, so she hosed down the entire living room.

She didn't need Spike around. She was doing just fine on her own.

Two days remained until the Alba City competition results. Faye considered calling Louisa again, feeling lonely, but decided that it would be dangerous to contact her too many times. To distract herself, she lit a cigarette and pulled up the competition website again and noticed a blinking countdown clock in the upper right hand corner of the page, ticking down the hours and minutes and seconds until the submissions were due. 4 hours, 15 minutes and 37 seconds remained until the deadline.

Faye frowned, chewing on the end of her cigarette.

 _One original work or group of works by a Baroque composer (no transcriptions)_

Her Bach sounded pretty solid...

 _2) One Chopin etude._

Chopin was in good shape too.

 _3) One work by a Classical composer (excluding Schubert)._

The Brahms intermezzo was a piece of cake, which only left...

 _4) One work or group of works written by one composer after 2050._

Her frown deepened _._ Too late to worry about it now, she supposed.

Unless...

Faye stood up and walked to the bedroom, tossing her cigarette butt into the trash. She sat in front of the keyboard and turned it on, biting her lip. Her communicator sat nearby, and she opened the screen and selected the AUDIO RECORD function. Holding her breath, her finger hovered over the red RECORD button for a fraction of a second before she pressed it.

She had a melody in mind. Something she had heard months ago on Callisto, played by a strange, gentle, troubled man she had loved for a moment. A song that haunted her ever since she heard it on that frozen night.

Faye began to play, and the music came easily. At first, the melody was simple, just like the way Gren had played it on his saxophone, but then it started to turn into something else, the chords shifting and changing colors. She thought of the glowing plankton underneath the stars, the feel of the cold ocean and Spike's warm hands, the soft touch of his mouth on hers. The tempo increased, and the chords grew darker and more jagged for a moment before the first melody returned in a different key, winding down until she played one final chord that lingered in the air like smoke.

She punched off the RECORD button and sat without moving for several minutes.

If she quit now, she would break the spell, so after she caught her breath she started the audio recording again and played the Bach fugue. It took four tries to get a good take, but that was normal. After that came the Chopin, and although she had to pee desperately she recorded three takes of the Brahms intermezzo before calling it quits.

A rushed bathroom break and then back to the computer. Faye opened the competition website again and checked the countdown timer. Shit! 27 minutes and 13 seconds left. Hurriedly, she plugged her communicator into the computer and downloaded the audio recordings. It took 7 minutes for the tracks to load, and the computer emitted worrisome grinding noises the entire time.

"Come on, boy," Faye urged, patting it on the side and gritting her teeth. Finally the computer chirped at her to indicate that it was finished loading, and with 19 minutes to spare Faye hastily typed made-up data into the audition form, substituting details from her past life in the sections where it asked about education and performance experience. The only thing she kept accurate was her name and photo (a flattering mugshot of her in her Poker Alice days downloaded from the ISSP website). There were so many pictures of her online these days that using a fake name was useless. Faye Leung, age 25. Birthplace: Earth.

13 minutes left. Faye finished the biographical information and moved on. The next section asked for composer names and piece titles.

G _Minor Fugue, Johann Sebastian Bach._

 _2\. Prelude in C Sharp Minor, Frederic Chopin._

 _3\. Intermezzo no. 118, Johannes Brahms._

 _4\. ..._

Faye deliberated briefly.

 _4\. Callisto Blues, Alice Valentine_

3 minutes left. Hands trembling, Faye clicked SUBMIT and leaned back in her chair, exhaling a whoosh of air. The computer started making terrifying sounds again, and she gave it a hearty slap on its side. An audible clunk came from somewhere within, and the grinding noises fell silent.

"Come on, come on, _come on,_ you piece of shit, come on," Faye hissed, chewing the inside of her cheek furiously. 45 seconds left. 39. 32. 27. 23. 18. 13. The computer screen flickered and stalled.

LOADING...

LOADING...

LOADING...

7 seconds left. She jumped out of the chair and paced in circles, afraid to look.

"GO!" Faye screeched. 2 seconds left.

Thank You For Your Submission! Results Will Be Announced in Two Days Time.

-The Alba City International Piano Competition

Faye whooped and threw her hands into the air. She spotted Spike's left-behind bottle of Suntory whiskey hiding in a bonsai cluster and uncorked it, taking a large celebratory shot.

"You're really asking for it," she told the computer, patting the monitor fondly. "Don't do that to me again. I'll turn you into scrap metal."

Suddenly she was absolutely starving, and she jogged back into the supply room for more dog food. She finished one can before she made it back to the kitchen, and when she opened the freezer she realized with a wild laugh that she still had a leftover steak. Amazing! She turned on the burner and threw the frozen steak in the pan to thaw.

The steak sizzled and steamed in the pan, and when it looked sort of done she speared it with a chopstick and slid it onto a plate. Scooping up the two cans of dog food she had left, she walked back to the living room and sat on the couch to eat. The upholstery was still damp from when she had sprayed all the bonsai, and it was starting to smell like moldy wet dog.

Faye picked up the steak with her hands, and as she opened her mouth to take a bite she heard the front door open with an echoing clang. She froze and tilted her head to listen.

"Who's there? I have a gun," she yelled, patting her thigh and realizing her Glock was in fact somewhere else in the ship. Whoops. "Hello?!"

"It's just me," came a familiar voice. "Come help me, will you?"

Faye looked sadly at her steak and placed it back in the bowl. It leaked grease and blood onto her hands, and she wiped them on the couch before standing up nervously.

"Need a hand in here," Spike called again, sounding strained.

 _That bastard_ , Faye thought, fuming. _Shows up like nothing happened a week later? What the hell is wrong with him? I should shoot him for real this time._

Against her better judgement, Faye sauntered into the hallway towards the sound of his voice. As she walked she heard a panicked meowing kind of sound, and wondered if another cat had gotten trapped in the control room.

When she turned the corner and saw Spike, her mouth fell open in disbelief. He was badly battered and filthy, sporting a spectacular black eye, cuts and bruises all over his arms, and a deep scratch on his neck. For Spike, none of that was surprising, but he also held a screaming bundle of blankets in his arms. Faye approached him like he was holding a bomb, and leaned cautiously over the bundle.

Very timidly, she pulled back the blankets to reveal the face of a baby no older than two or three months. The baby opened its eyes and looked right at her with a cross expression, turning bright red as it screwed up its tiny face and wailed.

For once in her life, Faye was completely lost for words, and stood gaping at him.

"Long story," Spike said wearily. "Is there any whiskey left?


	8. something in the way she moves

**viii. something in the way she moves**

"Um," Faye said, "hey, um, this is...this is a _baby_."

"She's definitely hungry," Spike said, frowning down at the infant. "Do we have any snacks? Or eggs, or something? I dunno what she wants."

Faye squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. Regardless of the fact that she wanted to smack Spike senseless, there were bigger problems at stake right now.

"No, idiot, it can't eat regular food! It needs milk. Oh my god, Spike. Oh my god. What is going on?"

"I know _that_ ," Spike said grumpily, heading towards the couch and sinking down slowly. He placed the baby on the cushion next to him. "And it's a she." He glanced over at Faye's bowl of half-cooked steak and dog food on the couch next to him. "Were you eating that? Smells rotten."

"Is...is this your _kid_?" Faye asked, horrified. "What did you do? Where did you _go_?"

The baby's cries increased in volume, and Spike closed his eyes, looking utterly spent.

"Faye, for the love of all that is holy, find the whiskey. I promise I'll explain."

Wordlessly, Faye handed him the Suntory from underneath the coffee table, and he took a five-second-long swig of it, finishing the bottle.

"Cheers," Faye remarked. Spike smacked his lips and threw the empty bottle onto the floor.

"All right. I guess I should fill you in."

"You don't say," Faye muttered under her breath. The baby's cries were quieting now, and she started to make softer cooing noises. "Is it going to sleep?" she asked hesitantly. Spike peered down inquisitively, and after another minute the cries stopped altogether.

"Think so. Don't wake her up," he replied in a low voice. He gave a great sigh and stared at the ceiling. "Well, anyways. You remember Doohan?"

Faye searched her memory for a second before nodding. "Crazy old mechanic on Earth, yeah?"

A muscle jumped in Spike's jaw. "He's dead."

"Oh. What happened?" Faye asked, perching tensely on the edge of the coffee table and keeping her eyes on the bundle of blankets.

Spike rubbed a hand over his bloodstained forehead. "Like I said. Long story."

"You got anyplace to be tonight?" Faye snapped. "What, you got a hot date after this? Start talking."

"Christ _almighty_ , Faye. Cut me some slack. I got my ass kicked from here to Jupiter and she wouldn't stop crying the whole flight back from Earth."

"So. You were on Earth, then?"

"Mmhmm. Anyways. Doohan, he was always tinkering around with crap in his shop, and, well, last week something went badly wrong. There was an explosion. His assistant emailed me the night we...uh, the night we drank all the whiskey. That's why I needed a drink so bad."

"Oh," Faye replied, blushing, "I thought it was because of Jet. And the doctors and the machines, and...you know."

"That too. But like I said. Doohan was killed, and his assistant, this guy Miles, asked me to come back and help settle his affairs." He paused and heaved a long sigh. "I don't owe Miles any favors, but...Doohan was a good friend to me."

The shadow that crossed his injured face tugged at something in Faye's chest.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, surprising herself. Spike stared at the floor and shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"Ah, the crazy old bastard was bound to blow himself up at some point."

"But the baby," Faye prompted, watching Spike's attention start to drift. He blinked dazedly a few times, the swollen black eye taking longer to open and close.

"Right," he said, yawning. "Turns out Doohan had a kid he didn't know about."

The baby stirred, stretching out one tiny hand and making quiet grunting noises for a moment.

"Which is..." Faye said, pointing hesitantly at the baby, and Spike shook his head.

"Nah. Doohan was in his seventies, maybe older. This is his granddaughter. I don't know the whole story, but the way Miles explained it, this kid shows up out of the blue a few weeks ago, whacked out on Bloody Eye."

Faye grimaced.

"Young guy, around your age. Knocked up some waitress in TJ, she ran off with some other guy after having the baby. Kid doesn't know what to do, his mom's been dead for a while, remembers something about dear old dad living out in the desert. No idea how he tracked Doohan down, but I guess he showed up, scared the shit out of everyone, ditched the baby, and took off again."

There were still gaping holes in the story, and Faye could tell that Spike was about ten seconds away from falling into a deep sleep on the couch.

"But what about all of this?" Faye pressed, gesturing at Spike's bruises and cuts. "And I still don't see why it's your problem."

Spike rested his face in his free hand before continuing, his voice muffled.

"Doohan was sitting on a few billion Woolongs' worth of equipment in that workshop. I worked on enough of his machines to know how much it was worth. The night after he died, right about when I showed up, a local gang decided it would be a great time to come ransack the place."

"But you didn't feel the same," Faye said wryly.

"They didn't get very far," Spike agreed. "Miles was useless, so I told him to get out of there and let me handle things. But I didn't know about her."

Faye picked at a hangnail. Spike took a deep breath before continuing.

"So I dealt with 'em, and as I was waiting around the empty workshop for Miles to come back and help clean up, I hear her screaming her head off. And, you know," he said, suddenly becoming very interested in a point on the wall, "I couldn't just, uh, I couldn't...uh, leave her with that birdbrain Miles," he concluded, clearing his throat.

"So why'd you come back here?" Faye asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"We have work to do, Spike. Did you forget about Jet? We're trying to catch a _murderer!_ Why the hell did you think this would be a good place to bring a baby? Have you lost your goddamn mind?" Faye yelped, her voice rising dangerously. The baby stirred and started to cry with a grating, rhythmic sound.

"Lower your voice," Spike shot back, nervously poking the baby's back. "I don't know how to get her to stop."

Faye stood up and began to pace back and forth, pressing her temples with her fingertips.

"I'm serious! What are we supposed to do now? We can't hunt a bounty with it crying all the time! We can't bring it into concerts! The whole plan's gone to shit now! You need to find someone to give it to!"

Spike picked up the baby awkwardly while letting out an exasperated noise.

"I thought maybe you could help me, okay? Sue me, Faye. You're a girl! Don't you know how to do this kind of stuff?"

"No, I don't," Faye answered sharply, "and if I do, I don't remember, Spike, I don't remember anything, not a damn thing, and even if I did why should I help you? You're not - you're not my husband, you're not my boyfriend, you're not - you can't just - " she spluttered, unable to stop herself, "you can't just _leave_ like that without telling me! What about Jet, huh? We're supposed to be partners! You're the one who wanted my help, remember?"

"Calm down, would you? You're making her cry - " Spike interjected, patting the baby feebly as she screeched and cried, but Faye cut him off again.

"Calm down? _Calm down_? I've been sitting in the hospital every damn day! What if he died? Don't you want to know how he's doing? I swear to god, Spike, I can't believe you. You ran off just like you always do!"

"Oh, that's rich, Faye," Spike fired back, growing angry at last, "that's rich coming from you, at least I didn't clean the safe and drain the fuel like somebody I could name - "

"At least I never did that after spending the night with someone, asshole!" Faye hissed, balling up her fists. Spike turned away from her, his ears glowing bright red.

"That didn't mean - I was drunk."

The baby was screaming now, flailing its tiny arms in every direction, and the sound made a jolt of panic wash though Faye. She bit back her scathing retort and sat down abruptly next to Spike, who glanced up at her in alarm.

"Give her to me."

"What?"

"You're doing it wrong," Faye growled over the gurgles and shrieks, holding out her arms. Spike gave her a quizzical look.

"I swear, Faye, if you drop her - "

"Just give it to me before it busts our eardrums."

Spike watched her distrustfully as he passed her the baby. Faye took her gingerly, surprised by how heavy her tiny body felt in her arms. She set her onto the couch cushions and wrapped her tightly in the blanket, which had become loose and unraveled.

"They get scared that their arms and legs are going to fly apart if you don't wrap them up really tight," Faye muttered, worrying her cut lip with the tip of her tongue as she tucked the baby's limbs inside the blanket. Slowly, the baby relaxed, and after another minute she closed her eyes once more. Faye realized that she had been holding her breath, and she released it in a long hiss between her teeth.

"Huh," Spike said, scratching his nose. "It worked."

"Told you," Faye said, standing up and stretching. "That's it, though. Figure out the rest yourself," she told him as she turned to leave.

She walked swiftly out onto the deck, bare feet slapping against the metal. Her heart was pounding furiously, and once she reached the water's edge she let a stifled scream into her hands.

It was cloudy, starless night, and Faye sank down onto the edge of the deck to skim the ocean with her toes. The water was chilly, and the plankton had dimmed to a dull turquoise glimmer when she swished her feet around. She pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of her bra and lit one, inhaling long enough to feel the nicotine buzz in her chest.

 _I can't do this._

 _I can't. This is insane._

 _Would Julia put up with this?_

She could leave right now, before Spike noticed anything. The Redtail was still in the hangar, exactly where she had left it a year ago before she went to Ganymede. All she had to do was hop into the cockpit and turn the ignition, and she would be free. Poker Alice part deux.

Free to do what, though? Go back to Benjy and catch him with the owner of the pink satin nightgown? Resume her post at the diner, getting yelled at by truckers when she didn't bring them enough butter for their toast? Free to sit in her leaky apartment and stare at the stolen photo of Spike and mope around for the rest of her life?

She stood up and patted her pockets for her money card.

"God _dammit_ , you lunkhead," she groaned, and started to walk towards the all-night grocery store.

* * *

Forty-five minutes and a convincing sob story later, Faye successfully conned herself into hundreds of Woolongs worth of baby supplies: diapers, formula, an extra blanket, and two minuscule cotton onesies patterned with elephants. Between choked-out sobs, she tearfully explained to the sympathetic shopkeeper that her husband had been killed in a zipcraft crash on Titan two days ago, leaving her penniless with the baby. The shopkeeper was so moved that he plied her with a bottle of wine and a whole rotisserie chicken before she left, clutching her armful of supplies and sniffling her thanks.

Heat lighting flickered between the dark thunderheads overhead. Faye ripped off a piece of oily chicken skin with her teeth as she walked back to the Bebop, precariously balancing the plastic container of chicken on top of the bottle of wine. When she was two blocks away from the harbor a peal of thunder cracked overhead. As she stepped foot onto the Bebop's deck, heavy sheets of silver rain began to fall, leaving pockmarks on the charcoal surface of the ocean. She darted inside, shaking off the water droplets and shivering.

Spike sat on the yellow couch, clumsily applying a medicinal salve to his black eye. The baby lay sleeping next to him, still swaddled securely from Faye's intervention. The rain tapped noisily on the roof, and Spike hadn't heard her come in. His fingers were covered with a thick green paste, and he winced every time he touched his swollen face.

Faye sighed.

"Let me do that," she said softly, stepping forward and depositing her pile of supplies onto an empty chair. Spike froze with his hand halfway to his face, and Faye walked over to him and picked up the small tub of salve he was using.

"No need," he said, reaching for the tub. His voice was hoarse with fatigue. "What'd you get?"

Faye ignored him and stepped out of his reach. She dipped her fingers into the tub and wrinkled her nose at the sharp medicinal smell it emitted.

"You're making a big mess. It's barely on your face," she told him irritably as she positioned herself in front of him. Their legs brushed together, and Faye's mouth went dry.

"Close your eyes," she said brusquely, tilting his chin towards her with her fingers. She felt his pulse twitching in his neck, and she wondered if it had increased at her touch or if she was only imagining things. Giving her head a little shake as if to clear it, she started dabbing the paste onto the spectacular bruise blossoming around Spike's eye socket. They were silent as she worked. The only sounds were the baby's snuffling snores and the patter of the rain on the roof.

"You don't have to stay," Spike said after a minute, his eyes still shut, and Faye paused, one hand resting lightly against his jaw to steady it. "I know it's too much. I wouldn't blame you if..."

He looked so hopeless, sitting there with his eyes resolutely closed and his face covered in bruises, so resigned and tired and sad, that Faye couldn't bring herself to say anything at all.

Instead, she moved her hand from his jaw to his cheek, and he leaned into it slightly, relaxing a fraction of an inch against her palm.

"Is that chicken?" Spike asked momentarily, opening his eyes and pulling away.

"Oh," Faye said, sitting down with a thump and twisting her hands in her lap. "Uh. Yeah. In that bag over there."

Spike stood up and rifled through the groceries, shoving a large chunk of chicken into his mouth and talking while he chewed.

"Did you buy all this?"

"Oh, god, no," Faye said, waving her hand in a contemptuous way and ripping off a chicken leg for herself. "Have we met?"

"Right. How'd I forget." He pulled out a box of diapers and gazed at it morosely. "Do they really need all this stuff?"

"Beats me, but it's what the guy thought I'd need. My husband died recently in a horrible zipcraft accident, by the way."

"Sorry to hear that," Spike replied absently, stretching and yawning.

They sat side by side, staring down at the baby while it slept. Faye finished her chicken leg and gnawed the bone thoughtfully.

"Hey, what's its name, anyways?" she asked, and Spike raised his eyebrows.

"Don't think she has one yet. Apparently the dad was too strung out to even think of that. Watch it, you're dripping grease on her."

"That's sort of depressing, don't you think?" Faye asked, tossing aside the bone. "Can't you think of anything?"

"I can only name ships," Spike said. The baby opened her eyes at the sound of their voices and looked up at them blearily. Her eyes were a dark grey-blue, and her head was covered with downy brownish hair that reminded Faye of duckling feathers. She surveyed them with a serious expression, waving her hands around in a vague, drunken way.

"She looks like a little red tomato," Faye said, and Spike made a noise of agreement.

"We can't call her that, though. That's Ed's computer."

"Oh yeah," Faye said, remembering. "Still..."

They had stayed up so late that the sun was starting to rise outside, and the sky gradually lightened from velvety black to a pale slate gray. The rain had stopped, and columns of steam rose from the streets. Faye slunk into bed as the first rays of sunshine started filtering in through the thick panes of the Bebop's windows. Too exhausted to move the keyboard from her bed, she merely shoved it aside and curled up next to it. From the living room, she heard muffled curses coming from Spike as he tackled the issue of feeding their new shipmate. She smelled the acrid stench of something burning and thought to herself that she should probably go help, but before she worked up the resolve to get out of bed, she was dreaming.

* * *

Apparently Faye had been catastrophically exhausted, because she slept for almost twenty-four hours. Staggering out of bed, she stubbed her toe violently on a box of discarded wrenches and drill bits as she stumbled down the darkened hallway into the bathroom to take a shower. Still groggy, she sat down on the shower floor and let the hot water cascade over her body for a long time.

 _What day is it? What's going on? Spike. The baby. Jet. Oh, shit! Jet!_

She checked a digital clock blinking in the corner of the bathroom and swore under her breath. It was almost seven in the morning, which meant that she hadn't been to the hospital in over a day.

But wait, she reminded herself. Spike was back. He would have woken her up if something had happened, right? Or maybe...

Turning off the water, she stood up stiffly and toweled off. Returning to her bedroom, she pulled on a black dress and her red jacket before walking out into the living room with her hair still dripping wet. Spike was sprawled on the floor next to the couch, snoring with his mouth open. His suit was rumpled and stained, and his black eye had puffed up even more dramatically under its coating of green medicine. The baby lay on the couch, making cheerful gurgling noises and kicking her feet wildly into the air.

"Well, hi," Faye said, shoving Spike over with a toe and kneeling down next to the couch. The baby gave her a cross-eyed stare and proceeded to gnaw on her own toes.

"You're not too different from Ed," Faye remarked, watching as the baby struggled mightily to flip herself onto her stomach. "Couldn't hurt to have another girl around here, anyhow."

Spike snorted in his sleep and turned onto his side, his face pressed against the dirty rug.

"Geez, he's not doing much, is he? Wanna go on a trip with me?" Faye asked the baby. "Come on. Girl's night out."

She scooped up the baby with one arm and carried her like a loaf of bread. The baby made a sound like an angry cat as they walked through the Bebop's door.

"Oh. Sorry," Faye said, tucking her inside her red jacket and tying a sort of makeshift sling. The baby's head drooped like a wilted flower, and Faye pushed her down until her whole body was tucked inside her jacket.

It was a hot morning already, and with the baby's added warmth Faye quickly broke into a sticky sweat, panting slightly as she walked the familiar route to the hospital. She couldn't quite explain why she took the baby with her.

The hospital was a flurry of activity, full of sleep-deprived families waiting anxiously for news and serious-looking doctors making their rounds, trailed by interns and nurses jotting down notes on clipboards. Faye made her way swiftly to the ICU, smiling absently when people stared at the baby's fluffy head sticking out of her jacket. Clearly she was doing something wrong, but the baby seemed happy enough, chewing on her own fingers and drooling.

Faye spotted Lucky at the end of the hallway the moment she stepped off of the elevator, and he called out to her cheerfully.

"My goodness, Miss Leung, I didn't know you had a little one!" Lucky crowed, hobbling over to inspect the baby. "What's this little sprocket's name?"

"Tomato," Faye said without thinking, and Lucky gave her a puzzled look. "It's not mine," she explained, dragging the sleepy baby out of her shirt and handing it to Lucky like a bag of groceries. "Spike sort of...ended up with it."

"Sowing his wild oats, was he?" Lucky asked with a wink, cradling the baby expertly in the crook of his elbow. Faye blushed.

"No, no, it's not his. A friend of his. It's a long story. How's Jet?"

"That's why I wanted to see you, in fact," Lucky said. "We need to have a talk."

Faye's pulse quickened. "Did something happen?"

"Come with me for a moment. My office is right here."

Lucky pushed open the door to his crowded office and ushered her inside. Faye took a seat in a scratchy upholstered chair and swallowed over the lump that had formed in her throat. Lucky settled behind his desk, peering down at the baby as she fussed in his arm.

"Ah, what a sweet little thing."

Faye waited, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

"So. My dear. Has your, ah, companion, Mr. Spiegel, explained my relation to himself and Jet?"

Faye shook her head. "No, no idea."

"Do the Red Dragons mean anything to you?"

"Of course," Faye replied wearily. "You're a syndicate guy too?"

Lucky gave her a sad smile. "When they were at the height of the power, it was nearly impossible to avoid becoming entangled with them. Here on Mars, they controlled almost every sector of business."

Faye sensed that Lucky was delaying the point of the conversation. She broke out into a prickly sweat.

"I worked with Spike Spiegel for years. He was a loyal customer, to say the least. And he did me a favor that I may never repay."

"That being?" Faye asked, pulling out a cigarette and sticking it in her mouth while fishing around for her lighter. Lucky waved his hands at her in panic.

"Please, Miss Leung, not in the hospital! Or around the baby, for that matter."

Faye grumbled under her breath and pocketed her smoke. "Anyways."

"I digress. What I meant to say is, Mr. Spiegel risked his own life to save mine. Although the bulk of my business was with the Dragons, occasionally a member of an opposing faction came to me for help. I take it you are familiar with the Hippocratic oath?"

"Uh," Faye said as Lucky rocked the baby slowly.

"No matter. In short, it is a pledge that all physicians are required to take, promising that we will treat every patient who comes to us to the best of our ability, regardless of their identity or gender or religion or morality or lack thereof, quite frankly. I was younger then, and much more naive than I am now. When the Dragons learned that I had dealings with a Tiger, and had in fact saved that member from a certain death from gunshot wounds, the Van did not take kindly to that knowledge."

Lucky sighed and scratched at one of his bristly white eyebrows.

"They called for my assassination. A political move, really, nothing personal. And I have no doubt that I would be dead today were it not for Mr. Spiegel's quick thinking and selfless actions. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to convince the Van that my death would only hurt the Dragons' standing further."

Faye listened to the clock ticking on the wall and waited for him to continue, twisting the hem of her jacket and clenching her teeth.

"Which makes the news that I have to deliver today all the more difficult," he said heavily. "Jet is suffering. I cannot, as his doctor, keep him on these machines any longer in good conscience. He is in acute pain, and I do not believe that he will recover with or without medical intervention."

"We can get the money," Faye interrupted. "We're really close. I swear. Just keep him on them a little longer. We're good for it."

"I have no doubt that you are," Lucky said, "but it's past that point, Miss Leung. He is far too weak for any course of treatment, and it would only prolong his suffering. Try to imagine what he would want for himself. How would you feel if you were in his shoes?"

"I'd want everyone to keep trying," Faye said angrily, "obviously," but as she spoke her mind wandered to her cryosleep. If she knew that she would never recover, wouldn't she want it to end quickly? Wouldn't that be a better alternative to a kind of cursed half-life, trapped in the prison of your body? Images wavered in front of her eyes in the dusty office, visions of the cold metal tube and the freezing gel encasing her limbs and the smell of the disinfectant. Her head swam, and Lucky leaned forward with concern on his wrinkled face.

"Listen. My advice is this. Go home, speak with Spiegel about it. Come back later this evening and we can talk through a plan of action. I'm terribly sorry to have upset you like this, now that you've got..." he trailed off, glancing down at the now sleeping baby.

"Yeah," Faye replied distantly as she stood up, scooped the baby out of Lucky's startled arms, and turned to go.

"Miss Leung," he called after her, but her mind was filled with a deafening buzzing. When she burst out of the hospital doors, the sunlight was so intense that her vision blurred and filled with black spots. She shoved the baby back into her jacket sling and hailed a passing zipcraft cab.

"Where to?"

The gum-chewing cab driver glanced back at Faye and eyed the baby sticking out of her jacket.

"Hey, lady, I don't mean to intrude, but is that kid all right like that?"

"Shove off," Faye replied automatically. "Alba Harbor."

He smacked his gum and took off, muttering under his breath about women and their rudeness. Faye stared out the window and watched the rain-washed streets flit by underneath them in a dizzying pattern.

It was a quick trip, and when they landed Faye hurled a wad of Woolongs at the driver without counting them. "Keep the change," she called, clambering down onto the deck.

Spike met her at the door of the hangar, shirtless and wild-haired and furious.

"I thought you threw her into the harbor! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"You were out like a light," Faye told him flatly, handing him the baby and pushing him aside as she walked into the Bebop's living room. "Figured she could use the fresh air. We need to talk."

"You're damn right we do - "

"They're taking him off the machines today."

Spike stopped in his tracks, fumbling to hold the baby in his wiry arms. His whole body sagged.

"They can't do that. Why? Lucky said so?"

Faye nodded.

"Is it the money?"

"Don't think so."

"Because we can get the money. We can figure something out today if we have to - "

Faye made a helpless gesture. "No, it's just...he's not..." She exhaled sharply. "He's too sick."

They stood facing away from each other, and Spike covered his eyes with his free hand. Faye felt nauseous and shaky.

"Something came for you in the mail," he said eventually, breaking the silence. "It's on the couch."

Faye spotted the large envelope on the yellow couch and picked it up. It was heavy, and she turned it over apprehensively to read the sender's address.

 _The Alba City International Piano Committee_

 _Alba, Quadrant Settlement 74B, Mars, The Solar System_

 _Post Code 394573454_

Spike appeared at her shoulder as she started to rip open the envelope, fingers trembling slightly. The baby started to whimper, and he plopped her onto the couch.

"What is this?" Spike asked curiously.

Faye tore through thick yellow card stock and yanked out the papers inside, feeling her heart thud in her temples.

 _Congratulations! The Alba City International Piano Committee is pleased to welcome you to the Alba City International Piano Competition. Inside this packet, you will find information pertaining to the first round of the contest, your compensation, and a list of acceptable repertoire._

Scrawled in messy cursive at the bottom of the typed letter was a brief note, and Faye and Spike squinted to read it.

 _Nice touch with the Callisto Blues. Never heard of that composer before. Interesting choice. I've got my eye on you. Best, Arthur Rosario_


	9. life on mars

**apologies for the hiatus! several Life things happened but all is well. I figured two chapters would be better than one, so voila. as always, I hope you enjoy and thank you for your kind feedback!**

 **viiii. life on mars**

Faye's heart raced as she thumbed through the papers, and Spike peered over her shoulder in confusion.

"What is this?" Spike asked, trying to grab the envelope from her. Faye ducked his hand and continued to read, the papers sticking to her sweaty palms.

"It's...I sent in a tape...don't you see?" Faye said in a rush. "This will...this is going to work. You'll see, Spike, I got it all figured out. This way we don't need Louisa at all, we can control it all ourselves, I can get closer to Rosario."

"What? What are you talking about?"

Faye paced back and forth between the bonsai, tugging her hands through her hair. The baby stared up at them with bright eyes and chewed on a toe.

"I sent in a tape. I got into the contest. _I'll_ be the spy. You'll be my manager."

Spike continued to stare uncomprehendingly, his mouth hanging open slightly. Faye resisted the urge to slap it shut and instead thrust the letter in front of him again.

"I'm in. I'm a contestant."

Faye swore she could hear the gears grinding in Spike's head. His eyes widened slowly.

"You...you're gonna compete? In the Alba City? For Rosario?"

"For the tenth time, yes."

"Playing piano?"

"Nah, thought I'd mix it up and pull out a tuba. Yes, idiot, piano."

"Well, damn, Faye, excuse me for not knowing you played. And...well, don't take this the wrong way, but, ah..." he trailed off, seeming to reconsider the rest of his thought. Faye ignored him, continuing her frenetic pacing. Spike frowned and rested his hand on the baby's fuzzy hair in a distracted way for a moment.

"I had no idea. How the hell did you send in a tape?"

"Bought a keyboard. Recorded in my room with my comm while you were gone."

Spike blinked several times. "Oh."

He stood up and walked to the window, gazing out at the harbor. "But I don't understand. What was the point of getting that Louisa woman involved?"

"Well, I...I didn't really know I could still play. Until I tried," Faye said truthfully. "It just sort of...

happened that way."

"You pay her yet?"

Faye shook her head. "Nope."

"Oh. Then...I guess...I guess I'm your manager? Is that how we'll do it? You're still allowed to have a person with you, right?"

Faye scanned through the pages of rules. "Um...here it is. Artists are allowed no more than two persons to be present with them during the course of the competition, including but not limited to immediate family members, managers, artist representatives, therapists, page-turners, nutritionists, hypnotherapists, astrologists...blah blah blah. We're good."

"When's the first round?"

"The competition will commence one week from today at the Alba City Performance hall at 7 pm sharp," Faye read aloud. "Looks like they put me up in a hotel from tomorrow until then, too."

"And what about your manager?" Spike said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. Faye caught his eye and blushed slightly before turning away. Her mind started to whir as she flipped through the envelope; she needed to pack, and print out more music, and figure out what to say to Rosario, and what to wear, and...

"Jet," she said suddenly, sitting onto the couch with a thump. "We need to go."

The baby hiccuped and struggled to roll onto her stomach, and Faye flipped her over like a pancake. Spike looked at her bleakly.

"Now? Today?"

"Lucky said they're going to..."

They stared at each other over the baby. The fan hummed above them, stirring up dust motes in the hazy morning sunlight.

"If I make the second round next week I get 500 grand," Faye said hesitantly, feeling queasy. "Maybe they should wait. But..."

"But if that doesn't work. Then he's just..."

"We should go."

The walk to the hospital was a blur. Faye stared at the ground as they crossed the city square and reached the gleaming marble building. Spike slouched behind her with the baby tucked into his jacket pocket like a newspaper. They climbed the white stairs and opened the heavy doors with a whoosh of disinfected air, and Faye let her mind go blank as they entered the elevator and rode upwards towards Jet's floor. The elevator door dinged open to reveal Lucky's solemn face.

"Ah, Spiegel, you're back," Lucky said, patting Spike on the arm vaguely. "Bad news, I'm afraid."

He turned to lead them towards Jet's room at the end of the hall. Spike said nothing as he walked. Faye sensed a bitter metallic taste on her tongue. They reached Jet's room, and Lucky opened the door soundlessly.

Jet looked worse than Faye could have imagined, and she heard Spike's sharp intake of breath. If it weren't for the feeble rise and fall of Jet's chest under the blankets, she wouldn't know that he were still alive. His yellowed skin hung loosely on his bones, and although his eyes were closed, his face was twisted into a grotesque mask of pain.

"Sit down," the old doctor said kindly, gesturing at the metal chairs. Faye sat, but Spike stayed standing, pulling the baby out of his coat pocket and depositing her in Lucky's arms. He caught her in surprise, settling her into the crook of his elbow.

"Ah yes," he murmured, "such a lovely creature. Now...Spike, if you and Miss Leung here would like to have a moment to...speak to Jet before..."

Jet jerked like a puppet, his eyes flitting open and rolling wildly in their sockets, and Faye bit her tongue so hard that she tasted blood.

"No," Spike said roughly, "just do it now. He doesn't need any more of this."

Lucky looked at him in concern. "Are you sure? It may be...quick."

Spike looked at the wall, stone-faced. "Believe me. He wouldn't want this."

"Miss Leung? What do you think?" Lucky asked, tilting his head towards Faye.

"He's right," Faye replied from another galaxy as Jet gave an inhuman groan of agony. "There's no point waiting."

"Very well," Lucky said softly. He turned towards the door and beckoned, and a young nurse walked in silently. Still holding the baby, Lucky approached the bed as the nurse hovered alongside him. Together, they carefully removed the wires and IVs and tubes from Jet's body, and clicked off the buttons on the blinking monitors. Faye's breath caught in her throat, and she glanced over at Spike to see him clenching his jaw, a nerve jumping in his cheek. Her chest tightened painfully. The whirring of the machines slowed to a stop, and Lucky and the nurse stepped backwards into the shadows on the wall.

The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall. Faye's chin trembled. She felt a sudden pressure on her arm, and she looked up to see Spike clutching her upper arm in a vice-like grip. He watched Jet's face, barely breathing, and Faye was afraid to move a muscle.

Lucky appeared at her side and passed her the baby. Faye took her and held the infant tightly to her chest, resting her face against the baby's soft hair. The baby squirmed and fussed as Lucky leaned towards her to whisper in her ear.

"Take care of him. This is a shock for both of you, I'm sure. But I doubt he is equipped for this," Lucky said sadly. "I'll be back in whenever you're ready to say goodbye."

Faye nodded without meeting his eyes. Spike continued to stare straight ahead. Lucky patted her on the shoulder before slipping away with the nurse at his heels.

Minutes passed. Spike still hadn't let go of Faye's arm, and she could feel the soft flesh of her upper arm bruising underneath his grasp. The baby reached her sticky fingers into Faye's hair, twirling and pulling it in her chubby hands.

 _Blood pooling in the air like floating raindrops. Yellow flowers. Incense. The monks, chanting endlessly. Stumbling through the wreckage with two cardboard boxes. I did the best I could. I can't remember. I'll tell Spike...I need to tell him. I did the best I could._

"Water."

 _Benjy turning the Betamax tape over in his hands, curious, running towards him and pulling it away. That's mine! How dare you? That's all I have. I can't remember anything else._

"Can't you hear me? I need some water."

 _Mom, hurry up, we'll miss the flight! Dad's meeting us there. He said he got us three seats together. Glass cracking, breaking apart with a groan, the machine emitting a human scream, mingling with the shrieks of the passengers. The moon shattering into a million particles of rock and diamond and dust. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die._

"What _is_ it with you people?" Jet croaked, opening one bloodshot eye to glare at Faye and Spike.

* * *

Faye stretched luxuriously on her king-sized hotel bed, digging her toes into the downy white comforter and breathing deeply. The competition committee certainly hadn't skimped when it came to accommodations. Her twentieth-floor room overlooked the ocean with huge bay windows, and everything was done up in a sleek minimalist style: all glass and steel and sharp, clean, elegant lines. A Steinway grand piano loomed in front of the windows, specially outfitted with soundproofed padding so that she could practice without her neighbors noticing a thing. Nobody mentioned anything about room service _not_ being included, so Faye had spent the last three days holed up in her suite, ordering plates of French fries and bottles of wine to tide her over while she practiced for hours on end. Pouring herself a glass of merlot from the crystal decanter by the bedside, she pulled out a new stack of sheet music and studied it. If she had to go undercover to catch a violent murderer, this was certainly the way to do it.

Not that she wasn't working hard, of course. The music for the first round of the competition was markedly more challenging than audition requirements: a Haydn sonata (Eb major), another Chopin piece (polonaise in Ab major, devilishly tricky), and the toughest of all, a Rachmaninoff concerto to be performed with orchestra (number 3, D minor). She had played the Haydn and the Chopin before, (a million years ago), but as far as the Rachmaninoff was concerned she was starting from scratch. And it was a _real_ son of a bitch, too, Faye thought, penciling in fingerings and dynamics as she listened along to the recording. She scratched her nose with the pencil and chewed on her lip. Her cut from the alleyway mugging was almost healed, leaving a faint line of ridged scar tissue.

Unsurprisingly, the papers were having a field day with this year's competition. The high-profile murders of Sheila and Lucy brought no shortage of spooky glamour to the whole event, and the gossip rags exploded with ghoulish articles listing this year's ten contestants as the next possible victims. Even the more reputable newspapers wrote articles brimming with barely controlled bloodlust, obsessively reporting on every iota of speculation about the Clair De Lune Killer and whether he would make an appearance in Alba City.

The ten contestants hailed from all over the solar system and ranged from ages 18 to 35. Each held impressive pedigrees, but Faye seemed to be the critic's favorite already, or at least the intriguing dark horse. Every piece about the competition featured a prominent photo of her Poker Alice mugshot and gushed breathlessly about the 'criminal turned bounty hunter turned concert pianist'. Faye knew this much publicity could be damaging to her detective work, but she had to admit that she enjoyed the attention. Clearly she had practiced enough in her past life to deserve this level of recognition, she thought, grinning like a cat and sipping her wine. She flipped through the Alba City welcome packet again, memorizing the names and faces of the other pianists.

Besides herself and Louisa, the contestants consisted of:

-Cecilia Chang, 23, Venusian. Known for her Liszt. Weird, overly gummy smile.

-Ezra Zanardi, 34, Ganymede resident. Chopin specialist. Looks kind of greasy and Eastern-European.

-Honami Kotara, 27, lives in Tharsis City. Career of interpreting the works of ancient Japanese composers. Serious and bespectacled, a little dweeby

-Harper Puggioni, 31, Titan refugee now living in Alba City. Loves playing Brahms. Curly-haired and Italian-looking.

-Tonya Kornev, 29, from the Russian part of Callisto. Ice-blond hair that reminded Faye of Julia in a painful way. Well-known for her Rachmaninoff, of course.

-Hugo Abellon, 22, Europa. Pudgy and earnest, studies Baroque music.

-Nomar Rostami, the youngest pianist at 18. Another Venusian. She's too young to have a speciality yet.

-Sarah Kim, 26, from old Korea. Tiny and adorable, with long black hair framing her shy face. Gaining traction in the world of experimental improvisation.

The sun was setting, casting fiery sheets of light across the white carpet. Through the windows, the dark ocean glimmered with flecks of gold. The news said that a hurricane was brewing out at sea, and the wind churned the waves into whitecaps along the rocky shoreline below.

Spike had visited her the day before, staring around the lavish room in jealousy while they discussed their plan for intercepting Rosario. Spike didn't stay long, because the baby threw up on his shirt and Jet kept calling him to bring some spicy curry to the hospital. Jet's appetite had returned with a vengeance, and although Lucky cautioned him against eating anything besides broth and porridge before the hole in his neck healed up, Spike snuck him in takeout every time he visited. His method was to distract the nurses with the baby while smuggling in leaky plastic bags of noodles and barbecue pork and omelettes.

"He's not out of the woods yet," Lucky cautioned Faye and Spike as they watched, dumbfounded, while Jet gazed around blearily and chewed on ice cubes. "This is a one in a million chance. Who knew he had such a severe allergy to morphine? Ah well, you live and you learn."

The sight of the baby in Faye's arms nearly knocked Jet back into unconsciousness, but Spike's explanation had apparently made enough sense to placate Jet. Faye didn't know, because her mind had been filled with such a deafening buzzing that nothing could make its way past the static.

A knock at the door startled Faye out of her musing, and she wrapped her fluffy bathrobe around herself more securely before rising. She squinted through the peephole to see a dark-haired woman lighting a cigarette.

"Hi!" Faye said happily, opening the door to let Louisa into the room. Louisa grinned back at her and offered her a cigarette, which Faye accepted gratefully. Her own pack had run out two hours ago, and she had yet to venture downstairs to the canteen to replenish her supply.

"That Rach 3 is a bastard, huh?" Louisa said, flopping down onto Faye's bed. "I swear I'm going to break my wrists getting those chords to really speak."

Faye nodded vehemently. "I know. It's impossible. How's the Chopin for you?"

Louisa waggled her hand. "Eh. Comme-ci, comme-ça."

"Mm," Faye agreed, joining her on the bed. The two woman looked out at the ocean as the last rays of the sun slid below the horizon, leaving a magenta afterglow against the black water.

"So I was thinking," Louisa said, pulling out a crumpled piece of notebook paper from somewhere in her skintight leggings. "There's this place. Not too far from here, out in the woods. It's a cabin where Rosario has taken a bunch of the girls to 'rehearse'. I've never been there but I know for a fact that Sheila and Lucy both went out there with him. And..." she said, spreading out the paper to reveal a hand-sketched map, "I have the coordinates here. I don't think the cops have gotten wind of it yet. Whaddya think?"

Faye chewed on her cheek, deliberating.

"How far is it?"

"Bout 2 hours driving. Faster if we fly."

Today was Wednesday, and the concert was on Monday. Would that leave her enough time to learn the Rachmaninoff, Faye wondered? If she flunked out of the first round, the whole plan was shot to shit. But then again, this place could be full of incriminating evidence. She thought of documentaries she had watched on serial killers: their lairs filled with bloodstained weapons and notebooks full of crazed ramblings.

"Can we go tonight?" Faye asked, pulling out her comm and dialing Spike's number. "Right now? Do you mind if my, uh, partner comes too?"

"Oh," Louisa said in surprise, "yeah, I...I guess the sooner the better. Do they have a zipcraft, by any chance?"

Faye nodded as she listened to the comm ringing. She hoped Spike was awake and not at the hospital or tied up with something baby-related. After several rings, Spike picked up, his tired face filling the screen.

"Yo," he offered, yawning and scratching at his stubble.

"Yo yourself," Faye replied. "How soon can you get here? Can you fly?"

"Why?"

"Louisa wants to check out this cabin thing that Rosario has. In the woods. The cops don't know about it yet."

"Shouldn't we tell them?" Spike asked. "Could be evidence."

"Well, duh," Faye snapped. "But they'll just mess it all up. Let's go. Where's the baby?"

Spike glanced over his shoulder. "Sleeping. It's gonna be torture to wake her up and bring her, you know. She gets crabby. You sure we need to do this right now?"

"Do you want to catch this guy or not?" Faye hissed. "Get your ass over here. We'll be waiting in the lobby."

Spike rolled his eyes and hung up, and Faye leapt out of bed in excitement. Louisa watched her curiously as she changed out of her bathrobe into a black shift dress.

"I didn't know you had a kid."

"Oh, god, no," Faye said, pulling on her boots and scrabbling around for a hairband. "My friend just ended up with it. Too long to explain. You ready?!"

In ten minutes, Spike screeched up in the Swordfish in a cloud of dust in front of the hotel. The uniformed valet workers cast him scandalized looks that Spike ignored as he waited for Faye and Louisa to hop into the cockpit. The ship barely held one person comfortably, and Faye suppressed laughter as she and Louisa squeezed their bodies behind Spike's pilot seat. Spike had the baby tied to his chest in a sort of makeshift sling made out of an old ripped shirt, and the baby gurgled happily upon seeing Faye.

"Try not to move too much," Spike called back to Faye and Louisa as they wedged themselves between the wall and the seat, their bodies pressing together tightly. "This thing isn't made for three people."

Louisa chuckled, and Spike turned bright red. Faye watched their interaction, frowning, as Spike revved up the engine and pulled out of the valet circle. Once they reached the road, they lifted off and rocketed into the sky. The baby started to screech almost immediately, but whether it was from unhappiness or sheer excitement, Faye couldn't tell.

"WHERE ARE WE GOING?" Spike yelled back at them. Louisa elbowed Faye accidentally in the side as she pulled her map out of her pocket.

"THIRTY MILES NORTHWEST OF ALBA," Louisa shrieked back. She thrust the crumpled map into Spike's face; he grabbed it and stared at the coordinates before making a sharp turn. Faye and Louisa tumbled into the wall, and the baby's screams reached an ear-shattering crescendo. Below them, Alba City's urban sprawl slowly gave way to dark, overgrown forests. The engine noise dulled to a low hum as they flew. The baby settled down, occasionally hiccuping and smacking her lips noisily.

"She's hungry," Louisa said, nudging Faye. "When they do that with their mouths, that's what that means."

Faye shrugged. "Don't look at me. Tell him. Not my problem."

Louisa gave her a funny look and fell silent, looking down at the black jungle flying by underneath them.

They flew for about forty minutes before descending over a small clearing in the trees. Spike landed the Swordfish smoothly on a patch of tussocky grass and they all tumbled out, stretching and yawning. Night had fallen while they flew, and they were far enough from civilization that the stars blazed furiously. A chorus of frogs and cicadas chirped and hummed all around them, and the earth (did you call it earth if it was on Mars, Faye wondered?) smelled richly of clay and rain and sulphur.

Faye gazed around as Louisa pulled out a flashlight and bounded ahead, pointing towards a gap in the brush. Spike hung back next to Faye, tucking the baby into his coat jacket.

"Can we trust her?" Spike muttered, leaning close enough to Faye that she could feel his warm breath on her ear. It sent a shiver down her neck, and she leaned closer to whisper her reply.

"Yeah, I think so. She's cool. Or at least, she has every reason to hate Rosario. She was pretty close with Sheila and Lucy, I think."

Spike nodded. "I don't know about this, though."

Faye privately agreed, but felt the need to defend her new friend. "It'll be fine. Come on."


	10. wrapped around your finger

**ok, so I have to admit that the final scene of this chapter was influenced rather strongly by a scene in the fantastic Japanese film _Tampopo_. if you've seen the movie you'll know what I'm talking about, and if not, you should watch it because it's great! anyways, onto the story...**

 **x. wrapped around your finger**

Spike and Faye grabbed two more flashlights from the cockpit and followed Louisa onto a dirt path between the trees, which were unlike any Faye had ever seen before. Come to think of it, she hadn't known that Mars had much vegetation at all, let alone a jungle like this. The plants were alien to her eyes; unfurling in complicated patterns and adorned with luridly colored blossoms. Shining her flashlight up at the thick canopy, she saw that the the overhanging branches were covered with vivid turquoise flowers in full bloom. Spike noticed her surprise and chuckled.

"You've never seen Martian orchids before? Expensive little fuckers. The syndicate guys would pay a fortune for these anytime their daughters got married or someone died or whatever. They only bloom once a year. So lots of florists would take regular orchids and dye them blue, but the real things have that weird smell, you notice that?" Spike sniffed the air like a dog, eyes closed.

Faye turned her nose towards the treetops as they walked and tried to place the puzzling scent.

"What is that?"

Louisa doubled back to walk with them, flashlight bobbing in the darkness.

"It's like a lit match," she called back. "Bizarre, huh? Here we go."

They stopped in front of a wood cabin covered in vines. It was quite small, and Faye could see the outline of two grand pianos through the front window. Her pulse increased as they approached the front door. Was this where Rosario had taken his victims?

"Hold on," Louisa was saying, fumbling through a ring of keys and trying different ones in the rusty lock. "I think..ah, here we go," she said in satisfaction, wrenching the heavy wooden door open with a creak. The baby started to whimper, and Faye saw Spike's eyes narrow.

"You sure about this?" Spike whispered again. Louisa had already clambered inside, and Faye shrugged.

"I've got my Glock. You?"

"Of course."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Faye said, winking back at Spike as she followed Louisa. She sounded much braver than she felt. She stepped through the doorway and walked straight into Louisa, who had stopped short about two feet into the entryway.

"What?" Faye said irritably, dusting herself off. "Can't we turn some lights on?"

Louisa cast her an alarmed look and cupped a hand around her ear.

"The power's out. You hear that?"

Faye frowned and cupped her own ear. When she concentrated, she realized she could hear the tinny strains of tinkling piano from somewhere within the house. She swallowed hard and turned to Spike.

"Stay out there with the baby," she said, holding up a hand. Spike began to protest.

"It's Clair De Lune," she hissed back, and Spike shut his mouth abruptly. She turned to Louisa and caught her eye, and the other woman gave her a frightened look.

"Come on," Faye whispered, grabbing Louisa by the wrist and treading across the wood-plank floor. "Remember, don't touch anything with your bare hands. We don't want to mess up any prints. Or leave our own."

The pianos by the window hulked in the shadows like sleeping beasts, and as they walked deeper into the house the Debussy grew louder. Beside her, Faye could hear Louisa's shallow breathing. Faye tried to give her a reassuring nod. The beams of their flashlights cut through the darkness, illuminating narrow swaths of floor and furniture, but so far nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"Over here," Faye said breathlessly. "This room."

She walked towards a closed door, heart hammering violently. Drawing her Glock, she pushed the door open with her shoulder as Louisa followed behind.

The smell of rotting flesh permeated the room. Gagging and clapping a hand to her mouth, Faye kept her gun drawn while Louisa shone the flashlight around the cramped space. Every surface was covered with sticky bloodstains, and flies buzzed lazily back and forth. Faye spotted the source of the Clair De Lune: a tiny cassette player in the corner, drenched in blood.

"Oh my god. Fuck. Oh my god, Faye," Louisa whispered. "What the fuck?"

Faye noticed a huddled mass near the twin bed in the corner and edged forward.

"Shine it over there," she directed Louisa, and when the beam reached the corner Faye let out a nervous laugh.

"A deer," she said in disbelief. "Dead deer. I didn't even know they had deer on Mars..."

"Maybe it got hit by a car?" Louisa offered weakly, holding a hand over her mouth. The smell was nauseating. "How did it get in here, though...?"

It was a young creature, its tawny coat still spotted with white, and Faye knelt down she saw that its throat had been slit savagely. Her gut flipped over.

"This was no accident," she murmured. "Someone killed it."

"There's a note," Louisa said, grabbing a piece of paper off of the nightstand.

"Take it and let's get out of here," Faye said, feeling sick and terrified. She cast a final look at the slain deer before they hurried out of the foul-smelling cabin and stumbled back onto the lawn. Spike turned towards them, holding the baby in one arm.

"What took so long?"

His irritable expression faded when he saw their faces and the bloodstained note that Louisa clutched in her hand. Faye shook her head and pointed at the note. Bending their heads, the three adults clustered around the bloodied paper. The words were scrawled in a hurried, childlike hand.

 _Poke your nose where it doesn't belong and see what happens!_

 _Sheila and Lucy were easy_

 _Next time it'll be someone who puts up more of a fight_

 _Who should it be next? Cecilia? Tonya? Sarah? Louisa?_

Faye finished reading first and looked up to see Louisa's face turn white. Spike met her eyes uneasily.

"This might be a hoax," Spike told Louisa. "A copycat trying to scare you. Don't worry."

Louisa merely gave him a withering look and started to walk back to the zipcraft. Spike and Faye walked about twenty feet behind her.

"What was in there? Not a body?" Spike asked, glancing furtively back at the cabin.

Faye shook her head. "Not a person. A dead baby deer. Someone slit its throat and dragged it into the bedroom."

Spike blanched. "And that's where you found the note?"

"Yeah. Someone knew we were coming, obviously. I don't know about this, Spike..."

They reached the zipcraft and crammed themselves back inside. Louisa said nothing during the flight home, looking sick and upset. When they landed back at the hotel, she peeled herself out of the cockpit and darted into the lobby with a muttered farewell. Faye hung back awkwardly and waited for Spike to park the zipcraft in the nearby lot. He returned after a few minutes, the baby yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"She's really tired," Spike said. "You know, she can't sleep when we fly. Do you think we could, um, come up for a bit?"

He looked exhausted in a way that Faye had never seen before. Without giving herself time to overthink anything, she nodded, and they walked into the gleaming hotel lobby and took the elevator back up to her floor.

* * *

Faye's skin felt clammy and she was trembling slightly, no doubt because of the adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was hard to stop picturing the blood-spattered room and the dead deer. The horrible smell still clung to the inside of her nose. Regardless, there was something else in the way her stomach felt rubbery and weightless as they walked down the hallway towards her room. Spike walked behind her, glancing around appreciatively at the fancy artwork on the walls. The baby had finally fallen asleep in the crook of his arm.

"Right here," Faye said, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the echoing hallway. "Um..."

She swiped her keycard and opened the door. During her absence, the housekeeping staff had finally been able to clean up, and everything looked freshly fluffed and polished. A large bouquet of pink roses on the nightstand caught her eye, and she hurried forward to check the note dangling from the vase.

 _Babe I'm really sorry if I made u mad last week,_ _its ok if u don't want to talk but I_ _miss you!_ _I can't believe ur in this piano thing,_ _break a leg!_

 _Xoxoxoxox Benjy_

Faye gulped and shoved the card into the nightstand drawer. Spike sidled in behind her and deposited the baby into the plush cream-colored armchair. As Faye jittered around kicking off her boots and taking off her Glock and its holster to place it by the bed, Spike sat at the piano and played a few chords.

"Steinway. Nice," he commented, picking out a melody. Faye stood at the bathroom mirror taking off her earrings. She his eyes in the the reflection as he talked. "So, what do you have to play? You ready?"

"I will be. Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Haydn," Faye called back, combing out her hair.

"You better not screw up the first round, Romani."

"As if," she scoffed, washing her face. She couldn't get the smell of dead animal out of her nose, so she spritzed some perfume around her temples and sneezed violently. "Bleh."

"Pretty flowers," Spike said with an edge in his voice. "Those from lover boy?"

"Oh, those are from the contest sponsors," Faye said breezily, aware of how transparent of a lie it was. Undeterred, she turned to look at Spike as he noodled at the piano. "So anyways. Jet doesn't need anything tonight?"

Spike smiled. "Lucky called earlier and said he's still stable. Nothing we can do right now, I guess."

He stood from the piano and stretched. Taking off his jacket, he tucked it over the baby as she snored quietly on the armchair. He straightened up and met Faye's eyes as she walked back into the bedroom.

"You need to practice?"

Faye shook her head. "I practiced a lot today. I'm burnt out. Tomorrow."

"All right. Kick me out if you need to. As your manager, I don't want you fucking up," he said, but his eyes were gentle. He kicked off his shoes and sat on the bed, extending his long legs and cracking his knuckles.

The wind was picking up outside, and even from the twentieth floor they could hear the waves colliding with the rocks far below. A distant lighthouse blinked on across the turbulent water. Faye thought about Louisa's terrified face, the bloodied deer and the note, and felt a sense of dangerous vertigo.

"They say a hurricane's coming," Faye said, perching on the edge of the bed as far away from Spike as possible. "You want something to eat? Wine? I get room service," she said quickly, grabbing the menu and thrusting it towards him. "Pick whatever!"

She couldn't explain to herself why she was so nervous. Spike had already made it clear that their drunken night together was a one-time thing, and it made sense that he would want to rest after their expedition earlier, after all. So why was her heart jumping in her chest?

Spike took the menu and perused it with interest. "It's free?"

Faye laughed, a slightly manic sound. "Better be! I'm not paying."

"Hmmmm."

Spike took his time reading every word of the menu, and Faye grew impatient and leapt to her feet again. She checked on the sleeping baby and paced back and forth in front of the windows. Another peal of thunder rumbled, and she could see heat lightning flickering between clouds out on the horizon.

"You're making me nervous," Spike grumbled.

"You're taking too long," Faye told him, and snatched up the phone to order. "Hi, let me get, uh...two dozen oysters and a bottle of the Armand de Brignac. Oh, and some baby formula. Yeah, room 719." She hung up the phone with a thunk and sat back onto the pillows, twisting her hands together anxiously.

Spike found the remote and turned on the television (a flat-screened behemoth hidden in the stone wall across from the bed) and flipped through the channels until he found an old samurai movie. The television screen reflected in the dark windows, and Faye watched a fight scene that way.

"We're in over our heads, aren't we?" Faye asked Spike abruptly.

"We might be," he said mildly. "But we've been tied up in worse."

He kept his eyes on the screen, watching as one of the samurai plunged a sword into his stomach, causing a bucketful of ketchupy-looking fake blood to spurt across his robes. Several shrine maidens wailed and fainted in the background. Faye grimaced.

"It's too late to back out now, though, isn't it?"

Spike said nothing, and Faye exhaled sharply.

"Why are we doing this?"

He turned to look at her. "What do you mean? To help Jet - "

"Why are we doing this, Spike?" Faye asked again, meeting his eyes. "Why did you find me?"

Spike opened his mouth to answer just as the doorbell rang, and he strode across the carpet to get the door. Faye pursed her lips as a pimply young waiter wheeled a cart into the room, followed by another waiter holding a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne. They placed the oysters, baby formula, and champagne onto the table before stepping back to stand expectantly by the door.

"Oh, right," Faye said, digging through her purse for a couple of crumpled Woolongs. She thrust them at the pimply kid, and he bowed and motioned for the other waiter to leave. They exited without saying a word.

Faye grabbed the bottle of champagne and poured them both two large glasses. Spike joined her at the small table beside the piano and crossed a lanky leg over a bony knee. Setting the formula aside, he started dishing out oysters onto both plates. The shells clattered against the china. Faye felt a wave of deja vu as they both sat there drinking quickly and staring away from each other. The baby stirred, waving her small arm for a moment before settling back into slumber. Low peals of thunder continued to rumble outside. Faye wished it would hurry up and rain already.

Why was she so nervous? Faye Valentine could get every man she ever wanted. All Faye Valentine had to do was flash some skin to melt men to putty in her hands. But she wasn't Faye Valentine anymore.

She was Faye Leung, the promising young pianist, a girl with parents and a past and a boyfriend (sort of), and she didn't know how to act around the man who broke her heart and came back for more.

There it was again, that vertigo.

"You're not hungry either, are you?" Spike asked, poking at his food. Faye glanced up and shook her head.

"I'm not crazy about oysters," she said as Spike opened a bottle of Tabasco with his teeth.

"Really?" he said, laughing. "Why the hell did you order so many?"

Faye laughed too, embarrassed. The champagne was going to her head, but she poured herself another glass.

"I don't know. I thought you'd like em," she confessed, tipsy enough to tell the truth.

"I bet you've never had Martian oysters, though. They're different. Something in the water. Here," he said, assembling an array of condiments, "let me make you one the right way."

He chose a particularly succulent oyster off of the ice-covered tray and started to sprinkle things onto it: a squeeze of lemon, a dash of Tabasco, and a pinch of something that smelled like wasabi but was a shade of bright neon blue.

"You know how to eat them?" Spike said, a mischievous flicker in his eyes. "The right way?"

Faye scoffed and reached for the oyster.

"I'm not that big of a plebeian, you know," she said, but Spike shook his head and tipped the oyster into the palm of his hand. He held it to her lips, and Faye stopped breathing.

"You must be crazy," she told him, trying to push his hand away. "I'm not - "

"Trust me," Spike said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "The shells are sharp. You'll slice your mouth. Again," he added. Faye felt herself flush violently.

Feeling ridiculous, she leaned down and ate the oyster off of Spike's palm. When her lips touched his warm skin, she heard him make a tiny sound under his breath. Perhaps the oyster did seem different from its cousins on Eatth: saltier and richer-tasting, but Faye's senses were too busy processing the rush of dizzying heat spreading from her temples to her thighs to think much about the taste.

"So?" Spike asked in a strained voice. "What's the verdict?"

She looked at his hand in his lap and noticed that a few drops of Tabasco still clung to his long fingers. Slowly, deliberately, she took his hand and lifted it to her mouth. His eyes widened.

Gently, Faye licked the hot sauce off of Spike's fingers, one by one. He drew in a shaky breath. When she finished his pinky she released his hand and leaned back in her chair, sipping her champagne like nothing had happened.

"Not bad," she said lightly, surveying him from underneath lowered lashes. "You want one?"


End file.
